
Class. 
Book. 



FT? 554- ^T 



nr. 



5 5 




JUL 



. JP O E M S 9 

CHIEFLY IN 

THE SCOTTISH DIALECT. 



POEM S. 



fv^rw 



CHIEFLY IN 



THE SCOTTISH DIALECT, 



BY 

WILLfAM TARRAS. 



On beauties of the rural dells, 
The Poet's foul enraptur'd dwell?. 



EDINBURGH: 

PRINTED BY J. PfLLANS & SONS, LAWNMARKET ; 

SOLD BY DENHAM & DICK, EDINBURGH \ J. MORIS C^ 

PERTH ) AND W. KNIGHT, ABERDEEN* 

l804- 






fc.m- . 



C O JV T E MT S. 



Pag, 
dk. Pastoral Eclogue en the Death of James 

Adamson, A. M. - - - I 

Mr M's Request to write an Elegy on W* Lori- 

mer - - «, . 8 

The Answer - 9 

Lorimer's Elegy - - - 10 

Ode - . - -- - 14 

Houp cherisheth the Saui - - 15 

Epistle to J**** £*#*# ' m 20 

T6 the Mountain-Daisie in Autumn - 29 

Epistle to a Friend - - - 31 

To my Auld Hat 37 

Address to Sautie - . , - - - - 39 

Jock Downie's lost - "43 

The Muse, and Poet. A dialogue - 45 

The Cadgers' Mare. A Tale to a Young Friend 49 
A Relation of the Death of J**** a****'s Dog 

Spottie - « 56 



n CON TENTS. 

Pag. 

To J**** a****, on hearing that a Girl was with 

child to him - - - 59 
On the Rev. Mr B******'s Absolution from the 

Church - - ~ 60 

Fastren's E'en - 63 

Song, Tune — Last time I came o'er the moor 74 

Song, Tune — Humours of Glen - 75 

Song, Tune — Lass of Livingston - 76 

Song, Tune — Wat ye wha I met yestreen 78 

Song, Tune- — Tweedside 80 

Song, Tune — Roslin Castle - - ib. 

Song, Tune— Et trick Banks - - 82 

Song, Tune— Roslin Castle - 83 
Song, Tune — She rose an' loot me in 

Song, " O'er heath- clad moors and desart wilds" 84 

An Invitation to the Daisie in Spring - 87 

To the Music-Bells of Perth - - 88 

Mid-Summer Fair, Perth - - 91 

On seeing W G n sleeping in the Kirk 98 

Epitaph on a Wag in S******* - 100 

' for a Noted Lawyer - - ib. 
. Eor T****"W****** of F******* 10; 

. for a Friend - - - ib* 

To the Friendly Society of S******* - ib. 
Ode wrote in Summer to J*** G*****, Esq. of 

Epistle to J. F****** - t lQ 6 



CONTENTS. VII 

Pag. 

A Pastoral Eclogue on the Death of Dr James 
Beattie, late Professor of Moral Philosophy 
in Marishal College, Aberdeen - 104 

An Ode, with a Pastoral Recitative, on the 
Marriage of his Grace the Duke of Bedford 
and Lady Georgina Gordon - 118 

Epigram - - - - 122 

To Mr C— — , on reading some of his ex- 
cellent Poems - - - 1 23 

Song, Tune — Humours of Glen, (to the Athole 
Volunteers - - - 124 

Written on the Author's Return to Buchan, 
1801, - - - 125 

The Blacksmith to his Auld Bellows, on remo- 
ving her, - - - - 128 

On seeing a Lady's Bonnet fall off - 13a 

Ode, written in December 1 803 - ib. 

A Petitory Epistle to Mr Addington - 132 

Lines written on a blank leaf of Fergusson's 
Poems, - - - 139 

Spoken to a Young Lady about to be married to 
an old ill-favoured Batchelor - , 240 

Elegy on Sautie - ib. 

Epigram on the Death of a Noted Lawyer 144 

His Answer to the Epigram - 145 

Glossary, - - - ~ 147 



E R R.A TA. 

Pag. 4. lint 9. for muses read muse's 

— 7. — *■ 16. yor reekie rawf reeskle 

■* — 18. — 24* for ass-howie read ass-dowie 

— 22. — 4. for gang read 'gan 

— 33. — 14. y£r way raj</ bay 
•4. 37. — 13. f r tath rai*/ that 
_ 40. — 1T> for can read canst 

— 40. — - 23. y#r kens r«&/kenst 
47. — 3. ^br peekl'd roo/peel'd 

— 55. — 4. yir puckcle read puckle 

~ SI 9 — *9 e read Yew there is like me weel fails 
me 

— 58. — 17. yir frhise read thilse 

— 70 — i8,yir bewrill't rar</ bcwilFt 



POEMS, 

| CHIEFLY IN THE 

SCOTTISH DIALECT 



SANDIE, ARCHIE, AND ROBIE j 

A Pastoral Eclogue en the Death of James 
AdaMSON, A. M* — Inscribed to the honourable 
person designed hy SANLIM ** 

Sandie, the blythest shepherd o* the green, 
Gowden his locks, like starns his mirky een | 
His chackit plaid the speckFt spink outvies> 
To imitate his sangs ilk callan tries, 
An' nature's sell hath finish'd him sae tight, 
To see or hear him clatter is delight. 
At dawn o' day, by wee'st peep o* light, 
We see his sheep thrang nibblin on the height, 
Him near the burn, wi' willow shaded linn, 
Dammin the gush, to gar his rash-mill rin, 

A 

* MrR— of A * 



( 2 ) 

O little kens he what betides the day ! 
Near gyte for Adie ! fou he tunes his lay ! 
Till gleg-lug'd echo tak her dinsome rout, 
An' lav'rocks 'light to join the gleesome lute. • 
Archie fu' vertie, owre the moorlan' spangs 
Ilk strype and stank ; nae doubt he itchift langs 
To crack wi' San', and hear his catchie glees, 
Or rear a bow'r o' wattle frae the trees, 
To shade themsels at noon-tide frae the bleeze. 

SANDIE. 
Sweet snuffs the morn ; now, Archie, let us gang 
To yon whin-brae an' hear auld Adie's sang ; 
The lift is clearin, an' the day breaks up \ 
Our droukit lambs the dew-wat heather crup ; 
Ilk knap and brae smiles sweet in simmer dead, 
An' a' the birdies lilt in tunefu' meed : 
Thro by your plaid ; come haste and dinna stay, 
Bang out your flute, 'twill steal us on the way. 

ARCHIE. 
Hout, trowna man, I vow it is o'er sien ; 
The sun new waken'd scaYce hath raik'd his een : 
Few herds are out ; what mak's ye'n sic a flught ? 
An' Adie's sheep's a' bleating i' the bucht. 

SANDIE. 
Hech ! aren' they out ? I'm fairlyfu' o' that; 
,Whan a' the lav'rock's 'mang the brier-rigs chat, 



( 3 ) 

An' bum-bike drones gang soughin thro' the trees, 
An* a* the eastlin welkin's in a bleeze. 

ARCHIE. 
But there comes Robie, flaught-braid down the brae ; 
How wild he glowrs, like some daft brownie-bae. 
His bonnet's afF, an's hair amang his een 5 
His hose hing down, an* twa auld sklytes o' sheen 
Are on his feet, an's breeks unbutton'd hing •, 
His tike rins sidelins wouffin by the spring ; 
My heart bodes ill, eftsoons, sae wad it seem j 
There's skaith when he's in sic a madden dream* 

ROBIE. 
What's i' your min', daft simpletons o' youth, 
That ye gang singan, free o' wae or ruth ? 
It sets ye ill to brattle about the thorn, 
While ither herds rin greetin and forlorn : 
An' weel't beseems the cantiest earthly shot, 
For this Stan's sair in ilka shepherd's lot. 

SANDIE, 
What ails thee, Robert ? hath auld Sautie's wierd, 
Fortauld that ye maun corse some luckless fierd ? 
Or hath the gled or foomart, skaithfu' beast, 
Stown afF the lintie gordlins frae the nest, 
That ye maist scare our lammies frae their pluck, 
An* flegg'd us sae, that we statf studdie struck ? 



C 4 ) 

FufF, Robie man ! chear up your dowie saul ; 
The ley's nae grae, nor is the weather caul. 
Gar Rosie plump the kirn till butter come ; 
Syne tak your chat, an' never fash your thumb. 
What doors come owre the herds of Mormond brae. 
That they sud fyke an' skool in dorty wae ? 

ROBIE. 

Are ye a tenan' o* this whin-thack'd brae, 
An' kens na what's befaun the herds the day f 
Are ye a sangscer o' the muses fancied reed, 
An' kens na, man, that liltin Adie's dead ? 

SANDIE. 

Hech's that the hum ? Q mirth be far awa' ; 
Dead ! tak your words, an' say he's i' the ha' ; 
Keen clootin's hose, or steeking's ragged sheen j 
Or rearin's ingle on the clean hearth-stane. 

ROBIE. 

O willawins ! I wis that tale were true ! 
Cast up your een, and view yon hillock's brow, 
Where mony a day we four hae merry been, 
Frae tunefu' twilight to the sober e'en. 
That canty knap, tho' in its brawest dead, 
Goups infant proud abeen the decent mead 
Wi' a its sangs, what joy dis it reveal, 
Sin he's nae mair that sang sae sweet an' weeh. 



( 5 ) 

ARCHIE. 

My head's gane dizzy : O ye vvarld vain ! 
Ae blink o' joy, and twa o' care an* pain ! 
Caller to sec him, sound o' lith an' lim' ; 
His lug was gleg, nor was his sight aught dim j 
His voice was shrill's the lav'rock's notes at dawn, 
When he in tift wad sing the Mantuan swain, 
Which he aft shaw'd's adown the burry-bush, 
Or whare the burn comes down wi' rairin gush j 
His mem'ry bright, for well he cou'd divine, 
An* spak o' ferlies that war gane langsyne. 
Compar'd the prefent, and wi' raptur'd thought, 
Blest freedom's race now dwynin into nought : 
Frae a' the plain he surely bore the bell ; 
Nae Johnie's lear that cou'd his praises tell. 

«ANl>IE. 

Down i' the glen whare gentle Eugle rfns, 
I mind it weel, amang the w T hislin whins, 
He aft doup't down, to shade him frae the blast ; 
Syne wad a cry'd, fu' coothie's I gaed past, 
Come here, young Sandie, snuff wi' me awe?* 
An' I'll lilt you auld Jonnie's * Tullle's glee, 
Sae wad he sung, till I amaist forgat, 
An' thought it dry, however sair it wat. 

* Mr Skinner, author of the popular song of TuBech- 
gorum, and several other excellent pieces, 



( 6 ) 

What wond'rous taies at his clear ingle cheek, 
Frae canty Allan, or the herdies tveek * ; 
Dark winter-nights, did e'er we think them Iang, 
Whan we had hap to hear his canty sang ? 
Lat hail or drift on lums, or winnocks flaff, 
He held the bink-side in an endless gaufF, 
Wi' catchie glees, some o' his ain up-mak, 
Which a' confess he had an unco knack. 
But whare's the tongue that cou'd his praises tell ? 
Frae ilka herd he surely bcre the bell. 

ROBIE. 

Or whan the simmer giant wi' nature braw, 
Ayon' the cleugh, down i' the green* clad shaw, 
Whare suckle 'tracks the canty soughin bees, 
Whare birdies sing and flitter 'mang. the trees, 
He aft wad trystit's a' to tak a rest, 
An' flegg'd the hours sae fast, ye wadna wist, 
Wi 1 Jamie's sangs, o' music's sweetest strain f, s 
Shawin the glee whare ilka glee made fain. 
Nor's that alane, the beauties of his mind, 
For ev'ry guid was in his saul combin'd, 
An steady wit, forbye, what glees he sung, 
And purest morals drapit frae his tongue. ' 
In adverse fate to soothe us he was near 5 
Did mis'ry groan, fits pity gave a tear 

* Gay's Shepherd's Week. f Beattis's Mimtrcu 



C 7 ) 

Weel may we say, nane can his praises tell 5 
Owre ilka herd he surely bore the bell. 

ARCHIE. 

Then let's gie owre (for what'll't add or eek ?) 
The briny tear that weets the shepherd's cheek. 
List shall his fame while burnies downward rin, 
Or while the linnet hails the hloomin' whin. 

SANDIE. 

As lang's in spring the gowan rears its head, 
As lang's in simmer wadders cast their dead, 
As lang's ilk seas'n progressive wheels the year. 
That name is sacred, and that name is deaF 1 

ROEiE. 

Now see, our flocks are far ayont the burn, 
Let's down by Johnie's moorlan' tak a turn. 
An' shaw him a' the sorrows o' our heart, 
For weel I wat he'll bear a heavy part. 

SANDIE. 

It sets us fair, for aft we've seen them fain, 
Dink owre tl. : bent down to the reekie den \ 
Then to their chanters bang wi' sic a birr, 
Gar't fock rm dytit, though scarce fit to stir. 
But first o' a', we'll down to my bit cot, 
]W this time Mellie's seeth't the brackfest pot ; 



( 8 ) 

Tor sair I charg't her whan I cam awa' 

To dead the board wi' dainties snod and braW, 

To entertain auld Adie, you, an' irie, 

That we might spen* the day wi' mirth an' glee, 

To sloe!: our drouth's a knag o' berry brown, 

Which Symmie coft last glomin i* the town ; 

Our cheeks are bleer't, our hearts are warsh and raw, " 

'Twill drown our sorrow, an' ca' care awa' j 

Fling on your plaids wi' haste, an' binna slaw. 



Mr M's Requejl to write an ELEGY qn W. LORX- 
MERy a famous performer on the Bag-pipe. 

Ae night on yon fag-theekit brae, 
I streek't my wearie spauls o' clay, 
Bang't out my flute, and 'gan to play., 

In merry meed ; 
Whan something gasp't and grain'd, hum-hae X 
Will Lor'mer's dead ! 

Nae ferlie, though it piere'e my saul, 

I pegh't, I hegh't, syne cry'd, Waul f waul ! ; 

An' near han* dead, I 'ssay'd to baul 

Some dirge-like sonnet \ 
It twigg't my lug, an' cry'd, " O yaul ! 

Tak afF vir bonnet." 



( 9 ) 

« Halt, frien'," quo' I, « let's ken yir drift, 
" Afore my doup frae this knap lift, 
u My pipe bein' in elegiac tift, 

w It needs nae treeshin, 
w I'll blaw't as lang's my craig can rift, 

" For that musician." 

" Weel, be it sae," quo' it, and pegh't, 

Cockin' its bum up to my sight, 

Which seem't to be like some corn-wecht, 

Or dead yowe's pellat j 
Sae aff it fudder't owre the height, 

As fleet's a skellat. 

Thinkin't to be the bummer's muse, 
(I'm bauld to crave without excuse), 
I houp, my frien', ye'll no refuse 

To tune yir reed, 
An' sing till tuneless flieps sail roose 

Will Lor'mer dead, 

THE ANSWER, 

To sing o' Will, I'll no be slack, 

My chanter's now in tune •, 
For wha like him had sic a knack 

To chear a dowie crown ? 
Drinkin' to hand my entrails swack, 

B 



( io ) 

Or drown a carin' oon, 
I gouff't the bickers a' to vrack, 
Whan e'er I saw yir croon, 

O' death the night ! 

THE ELEGY. 

An' sing till tuneless flieps sail roose 
Will Lor'mer dead. 

Requefi. 

Help, Muse, to mourn in dronin verse, 
Wild yallach till yir craig grow herse ; 
The theme ye're on, a heart wad pierce, 

As hard as steel ; 
Nae mair ye'll hear the bagpipe fierce, 

Wi' tunefu' squeel. 

Buchan, Garioch, Boyne, an' Mar, 

Enlist ye in this dowie war ; 

Fell death, wi' his lang scyth-en't spar, 

'S lent Will a rackart -, 
An* trail' t him aff i' his dauk car, 

As dead's a chackart. 

The day be douff in mournin mirk, 
An' sour's the brethren o' the kirk, 
Whan he receiv't the fatal jerk, 

Yet's chanter held ay ; 
'Twas said, an' after play'd the « Birk 

O' Abergeldy." 



( II ) 

O mourn ilk sangster, far an' near 
The joys that bless the comin' year; 
Nae mair frae his gleg drone ye'll lear' 

A canty lilt ; 
Now rural music's chanter clear 

Is aff the hilt. 

Ye fells, ye dales, and hillocks mourn ! 
Ye todlin' burns mi' wheeling turn ! 
Ye mountains now yir heart's forlorn ! 

Rair to the Ikies, 
That stiff in death's black drearie urn 

Our piper lies. 

Mourn, brithers o' the drone and chanter I 
This fkaith gies you an unca canter, 
Ye ne'er gat -sic a fell mishanter 

Sin' e'er ye li'ed ; 
There's nane to ward the fiddler's banter, 

Sin' Lor'mer's dead. 

What's waddins, feasts, foys, or fairs, 
That they sud crave our canty cares ? 
Their fiddlin trills, an' solo airs, 

Are maughtless meed, 
Whan we in sable sangs rehearse, 

Aul Lor'mer dead. 

Nae mair whan Winter ev'nin's come^ 
We'll hear the gleesome bagpipes hum % 
Ba 



( 12 ) 

Nae mair the chanter/ fa fum, 

Plays pipe-a-leerie -, 

Now ilk ane dytes wi' fient a mum ; 
An' O it's wearie ! 

What odds whan rinkin browsters binks 
Gaed daft wi' bickers, an' wi' skinks ! 
Will sleekit ben, an' syne he drinks 

Ye hale an' soun' ; 
Then ilka wanter wudlins jinks 

To hear a tune. 

Then Tullie gart ilk carlie jinkit, 

Till caps an' trunchers rair't and rinkit 5 

Auld carlins at the lum-side winkit, 

To see them flitter ; 
Het fuddlers sprang the cork, and linkit, 

Till they wad ■ 

O rare to hear his Maggy Lauder ! 
Gart younkers o' the lee-rigs gadder \ 
Inspir'd wi J glee, the lowns rin madder, 

Till lasses canter ; 
cc Fatrecks !" ^uo' Will, f* it needs nae badder," 

'Twas H Rob the ranter." 

Italian trills he cudna wi' them ; 
Wi' dear strathspeys he aft wad glee them ; 
But whan fell death had come to see them, 
An' gi'en a habber, 



C 13 ) 

Wi' solemn air, fu' ciouce he'd gie them 

" No more Lochaber" 
How canty was iik summer glomin, 
Whan gleesome herds war hameward comin, 
To hear his chearie pibrochs bummin 

Ayont the loch ! 
To list the soun' throw birk-trees hummin 
•Ran ilka droch. 

O cud our cries or tears bring back 
The^man that we sincerely lack ! 
How soon sud Euchan hear the fact, 

An' cease her sorrow ! 
An aince again renew the knack, 

To ride to Turra *. 

But och he's gane, an' left us a' ! 

To sob an' maunt, an' greet an' blaw ! 

The time soughs on, whan we maun fa', 

Sae late or soon \ 
We hcup to see the bodie braw 

Ayont the moon. 

THE EPITAPH, 

The dowie for their dead may mourn, 
An' drap a sympathising tear -, 

* TurrefF, a village in Banffshire, famous for merriment ) 
hence he is faid to be riding to Turra, who is merry. 



( i4 ) 

But what is that, whan mirth's forlorn, 
An' weeps for him that's liggin here ? 

ODE, 

Written, January I. 1803. 

I. 

JL he new year comes ; then stir the tipple ; 
I see the auld ane craz'd an' cripple, 

Gangs aff wi' mony a rair : 
Lat's try this income, how 8 he stands, 
An' eik us sib by shakin hands $ 
See gin he smells o' care. 
Yes ! by my saul, I see his snout ; 

He is a darlin boy 5 
Come swig the stingo roun' about, 
An* toast the auld chiel's foy. 
Yir wizzent, yir gizzent, 

Wi' blyter't grief and sorrow ; 
Sae rant it, gallant it, 

An' houp braw things to-morrow. 

II. 

He surely is a heartless sumph, 
That lolls about the ingle dumph, 

On sic a day as this \ 
Whan a* fhou'd rant it in a ring, 
An' sweeng their poortith in a firing, 

And muckle pint-cap kiss. 



( 15 ) 

What's that to you, tho' drumly flieps 

Sit thinkin on their weirds, 
Their black mishanters, ebbs and deeps 
At corsin o' life's fierds ? 
Be chearie, nir wearie, 

An' there's my loyal thumb,* 
Ye'll fend it, an' end it, 
Without a drowsie hum, 



HOUP CHERISH ETH THE SAUL, 

I. 
JlAoup, love, an' joy, a gleesome core, 
Perhaps to scan my rustic lore, 
Inspire my muse to sing; 
While I wi' houp elate an' vain, * 
Eye love wi' sweet bewitchin mien, 
An' joy to strike the string. 
Love disappear'd, an' in her stead, 

A train o* black despair : 
I look'd, but, lo ! my joy had fled, 
An' left me restless care, 

That gaird me, that pall'd me s 

Had not a fancied call ; 
Cry'd, Fear na, nir steer na, 
Houp cherisheth the sauL 



( 16 ) 

II. 

How fleeting are the joys «f life \ 
How fickle are our loves when rife ! 
An' backward as they're vain ! 
Yet houp the chearer o' the mind, 
Can tend us 'gainst an adverse wind, 
An' yark baith care an' pain. 
The scool o' Property may nip, 
An' Pomp may shaw disdain ; 
Poortith may your carcase grip, 
An' Need your pouch may drain : 
To jeer ye, to bleer ye, 

Sickness gouts your spaul ; 
But a' that, to fa' that/ 
Houp cherisheth the saul. 

III. 

"Whan blissfu' days o' gleesome youth, 
Whan artless tales, an' sangs uncouth, 

Shamm'd aff the hinglin hours ; 
Did e'er we think o' winter near, 
Or age, when gray our fronts appear, 

An' ev'ry pleasure sours; 
Nae mirth, nae joy, then glads the ear, 

Nae harmony maks fain ; 
Wi' dowie thought we downwith wear; 

Ilk day increases pain* 



( i7 ) 

Our heart, then, wad part then, 
Whan blood is thin an' caul', 

But sure, sirs, dk hour, sirs, 
Houp cherisheth the saul. 

IV. 

O want ! that flinty-heartit knave, 
Mak's mony a gen'rous heart a slave, 

An' shuns some scurvy tykes, 
Whase nieve wad grudge to spare a plack, 
To pang the kyte, or dead the back, 
O' misery's countless bikes. 
Whan social neiboursowre a cap 

Wad mint to drop ilk care, 
Wani minds them on a thackless scaup, 
Wi' a' their pouches bare. 
That fears us, nay tears us ; 

An' yet when young or aul 9 , 
To bang that, and whang that, 
Houp cherisheth the sauU 

V. 

Ye partizans o' folly's squad, 

Whase passion will not bin' nor haud, 

Wi' mad-cap'd hair-brain'd rantin, 
Whare will ye land, when days o' grief 
Come sleekin in, like midnight thief, 

An' nails vir mad-leed vauntin s 

* 

c 



( is } 

Och on I my vera fabric faggs, 

To think o' crazy bancs, 
Methinks I see ye 'xpire in rags> 
An' hear yir piteous" granes. 
Then be it sae, I see it sae » 

Ye hae nae ither paul, 
That lifts ye, and tifts ye, 

But hope that ehears the sauL 

VI. 

Ye neibours douce and even down*. 
Wha ne'er experienced a stoun, 

Or ragglish backward snib. 
But canny throw your vista jogs, 
An* wily wards, misfortune's bogs* 
An' laips ilk dainty drib : 
Ye're happy when auld age links in, 
To craze your weel-hain'd banes* 
Fu' canty may ye cock your chin, 
And smile at ways an' -means'; 
While ithers, yir britbers* 

Can claim nor house nor hal*; 
Has naething, but ae thing, 

That's houp which ehears the saul 

VII. 

My heart aft natters gaunt wi' spleen. 
To glum ass-howie a ? my lane, 
An' ripe a plackless pouch, 



C 19 ) 

An* tho' I Mvance a word o' sense, 
Some sumph gets up, scull proud o' pence, 
An' slieth-like bids me couch. 
The power of pelf gangs right far ben, 

An' lifts up wo»ms to honor; 
Gars reverence be paid to men, 
Forgetting aft the donor 5 
Believe me, they grieve me^ 
An' aften gar me scaul : 
I'd shawthat, wer't na that 
Houp chensheth the sauL 

VIII. 
But what's this life ? a varied day $ 
Whiles sulky sour, whiles blinkin gay, 

Our hours progressive wheel : 
Were't no' for houp, that darling bliss, 
That cheers us wi' a fancied kis% 
Our very hearts wou'd geah 
An' then when pith an' years are spenf* 

And death bangs surly in, 
Then houp's the only leaning bent 
For unrepented sin. 

It chears us •, it bears us, 

When dowie we would fall % 
Thro' life then, ills rife then, 
Houp cherisheth the sauL 
Ca 



( 20 ) 

EPISTLE TO J**** Z****, 

Frae Mormond's laigh, a mooiland cock, 

Just like a tailor i' the yock, 

Fidges sair that he's sae dowie, 

Wi' clautit kitt an' empty bowie \ 

Yet on the tither han' he's vauntie, 

An' sings an' habbers blythe aa' cantie, 

That he has friends in spite o' faes, 

Level yird in spite o' braes j 

Lasses that baith nip and pike 'im ; 

Lasses that right dearly like 'im , 

Hale o' lith, nae skaith'd wi' beam- shin; 

Blest wi' a shot o' rustic gumption ; 

Yir friendship courts in h^me-spun verse. 

Gin ye'll consent, he'll cock his birse, 

An' maunt an' blaw his chanter fu', 

That he's acquaint wi' ane like you ; 

Whase lilts wad gar a Quaker blinter, 

An' busk the daisie braw in winter. 

Blest days ! when Caledonian singers, 
Can gar the southerns bite their fingers ; 
An' girn wi' spite that they're sae dung 
Wi', as they say, a codroch tongue, 
An' chiels that hae nor wit, nor mense, 
Nor ken a shilling by sixpence. 



( 21 ) 

But yaltie billies, steek your gab, 

An* 'fore wc fidge, let's hae the scab ; 

There's chaps been here that kent guid breeding, 

An's prais'd our havins, wit, an' feeding. 

An' for our bards, we are sae giftit, 

Their fame cannot be owre far 1 if tit. 

Blvthe All.e held ye out o' langer, 

His muse, what syren's lilts ere dang 'ei ? 

Niest Fekgie gart ye snufFan' snivel, 

An' Ro3iL wis the vera devil \ 

An' sae yir pows wi' satire knytit, 

Sic capers dang ye downright dytit. 

Now J****'s lear' your harn- pan hammers. 

Out o' the fire into the aimers, 

An' scads ye sae on wing like fa'con, 

Ye'H soon be mute as ony maukin. 

But, Sir, as I wis kindness cravin, 
I'd maist forgot wi 5 satire laivin ; 
I'm fain, afore my lines ye scan, 
Or sentence me an ass or man, 
To gie you here, in verse descriptive, 
My out an' inside eke perspective. 
That whan a carlie a' hath notfc, 
Ye'll sol'e this question, Wha wis't wrote it ? 
By size, an' mak, birth, arf ation \ 
Titles, honours, riches, station \ 



( 22 ) 

Creed an* lear, age an' nature ; 
tire o* pow, an' fire o' feature ; 
Fortune fair, or adverse shanter, 
Sin' I first gang to loup or canter. 

InprimiS) then, I'm Scotland born t 
Nane subject t' Amalthea's horn. 
My ancestors might be frae Sweden, 
For onie thing that I hae read in -, 
Or Saxon Athelms, now a rarity ; 
Or knights o 5 the order o' Christian charity ; 
Or high extract o' Julius Caesar j 
Or keeper o' auld Croesus' treasure. 
Be't as it will, throwin aff ilk notion, 
My lot is cast in modern Goshen ; 
(Tho' some dry-bobs wi' censure boilin, 
Maintain its but a backgaun Island) 
Tho' not wi' wights o' rank to beau it, 
Yet as a gray back-lallan Poet j 
Tho' not wi' thanes an' lairds to spank it, 
Life, an' life thinkin, L ~d be thankit. 
Wi' braws I seldom cock my biskit, 
Nor a-la-mode do mean to frisk it * 9 
Thinkin it best to be owre-laid in 
A suit o* sonsy hap-warm plaidin ; 
To bang the nippin frosts o' winter, 
An' fend the heat o' simmer's Winter. 



C 23 ) - 

For poets dinna care a sneeshin, 
For philosoph, or yet physician; 
Depending on the second sight, 
Which tents them thro' the daukest night, 

Secundo) niest, my clay-built fabric, 
Is nae lank lang waist, nir is't a 'breek. 
Sae dinna think Fm pride-extortion'd, 
Tho' vain to say, Fm near proportion^ ; 
My height '11 measure se'enty inches, 
An' five span 'neath my oxter kinches. 
An' for the charter o* my span, 
The date's last cent'ry eighty-one, 
Tho* time's been fell, I ne'er gaed sarkless^ 
Nor ever claw'd a caput barkless. 
Blest wi' a smick o' hame content, 
I ward skaith o' the moorlan bent. 
My visage black, an* nae ways lusty % 
A proof my fending's nae sae gusty %- 
But yet wi* that I never quarrel, 
Be't aiten-scon, or barley-farle. 
I hae nae wife to scaul or canker, 
Yet after a' I sometimes hanker : 
Wi' queans, some hint, I aft stravaig it, 
Altho' there is nae livin plague yet. 
Now ye may think Fm doufFan' feckless : 
The case is clear, my pouch is plackless ; 



( H ) 

"Which gars them compliment some chiel, 
Wha kniefly kythes in snugger biel, 
That saves me frae the session's glamack, 
Which erumnates and lanks the stamack. 

I've fae's, 'tis true, but friends I've plenty : 

J M is a caliant daintie ; 

Auld A cheers me in a swither^ 

An' F — ~- loves me like a brither. 

J D 's a lad, I'll say politic, 

An' M is a nippin critic : 

An' yet sic honest sauls an' civil, 
That I cou'd dog them to the devil. 
Yir daddy wis a canty carle, 
A friendlier saul ne'er blest the warl* ; 
For monie a day we twa hae been 
Right cantie on the simmer-green. 

Whan I had hap to be at G , 

I ne'er sat wi' an empty stamack j 

Nor mum, like virtuosos sour, 

But fleg't awa' a lazy hour, 

Wi' rairin glees, or clitter clatter ; 

Nor did we drink o' gilpin water. 

But reemin nap wi' houp weel heartit, 

An' dram o' whifky whan we partit. 

An' sic a kindly honest man, 

I cou'd wi' him ha* spun my span - t 



C 25 ) 

An' feelin' sauls are fouk the best 0% 
That e'en the kirk fouk's no possest o*. 
But peevish neargawin wights an* cunnin, 
An' for the maist part bent on winnin 
Advancin things wi' Deil haet grun in, 
An', L — d, he's o' an ebb extraction, 
That lippens to the kirk's protection 5 
He's sookit to the last extortion, 
An' cauld an' hunger is his portion. 

Now, tertio, Sir, this leads me on, 
To shaw ye my true gospel-groan j 
Believin facts, nae rupture furious, 
Nor am I deep grun't, porin curious, 
Nor forrat am, to ram my snout in 
O' things that I might after doubt in. 
Right careless, wi' an empty girnel, 
If cautiousness protect my kirnel, 
Frae fiends that might me downward hurl. 
An' scadd me in anither warle. 
Believin Job a wight o' patience ; 
David a terror to a' nations ; 
Noah a lover o' the claret ; 
Balaam's ass sib'to a parrot ; 
Solomon's proverbs mor'is o' worth % 
Haman a nickum 5 and so furth, 

D 



} 



( * } 

1 canna *gree wi' Tor 5 nor Whig ; 
Nor mean to saunts to pray or prig ; 
Nor Knipper-Dol can I confide in ; 
Nor Quaker, nor auld Jock o' Ley den ; 
Nor mony mair, which 1 might name, 
O' modern branches sprung at hame, 
Religion's bane, an' Scotland's shame* 
I neutral rank, an* think wi' scope, 
Riskin my saul weel clad wi' houp, 
Wishin ilk thrawart gab war steekit, 
An' deils a' i' their gra\e-claise streekit \ 
Thinkin 'twou'd end the disputation. 
An' gie the black-coats tongues cessation. 

Lajlly^ my frien', without effusion, 
Fse draw my sermon to conclusion, 
Owre muckle gab's down-right intrusion. 
I watna gin a chiel might see ye, 
An' quaff a nappy bicker wi' ye. 
For tho' fell drift skifts owre the knap, 
Yet we're a' trig in winter hap. 
Whatrecks, gin I might rax my spaul, 
An' spang the braes in spight o' caul ? 
Ne'er thinkin't ony jag or pingle, 
Till I was clankit at your ingle ; 
Whare heady slock's, an' glorious fend in, 
Peace, mirth* an' pleasure never endin, 
And routh o' a" thing, bickers bendin. 



( 2 7 ) 

Tell Meg, your neebor joe fernyear, 
I wish her weel, lang hale an' fier ; 
My blessin gie to Jonny A — t ; 
Likewise to Rob an' Onzie B — t ; 
Wi' them my friendship's fairly knitit ; 
Nor time nor death can ever flit it. 
Happy to meet whan we forgather } 
The Lord be wi 5 you a' thegithen 

Strichiti, Dec. 4. 1802. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Whan I was young, and *gan to spel?, 
Or listen to an ev'nin tale, 

Frae Grannie's mirky store ; 
E'en than I 'ssay'd to court the muse 1 
On Pegasus to take a cruise, 

An' thought t' exert in lore. 
Where burnies sweet meander fang* 

I'd pleasing eye ilk flow r er ; 
Or steal me frae the tiny thrang, 
To Philomela's bower. 
Apollo to follow, 

Was ay my artless care % 
To the muse that doth infuse^ 
I pray'd for nature bare. 
Da 



( 28 ) 

II. 

Niest, whan I counted as a man, 
At least for size an* art o' han', 

To wield the derf fore-hammer, 
Nae doubt owre blyth I took the glass* 
An' aften jokit wi' my lass, 

Aneath pale Luna's glimmer. 
Yet wallyfa' the canty quean ! 

An* wae befa' the cappie ! 
The tane's the pleasure o' the nine, 
The tither maks us happy. 
I'm wearie, I'm drearie, 

Whan twin't o' that gay pair ; 
I like ay to fike ay, 

Wi' them, be't late or air. 

III. 

Some sages douce, to mar our joy, 
Maintain that ev'ry blink's a toy, 

In this imperfect state ; 
I grant them that, but farther on, 
Are we to scorn the mighty One, 
By grudging at our fate ? 
No •, rather let's ilk daintie sip, 

While life is in its prime ; 
An* ev'ry adverse bliffert hip, 
Wi* raptufd thought, no crime* 



C 29 ) 

Disdaining, refraining, 
To joy on others harm ; 

Rejoicing, disguising, 

What wou'd our peace disarm* 



To the MOUNTAN-DAISIE in Autumn, 

Sweet gem ! thy lovely garb decays ; 
No wanton zephyr round thee plays, 

To court thy wonted smile ; 
But thankless man, an' reptile wild, 
Regardless view gay summer's childj 

Soul of the verdant soil. 

The careless lark, regardless too, 
That ance amang the balmy dew 

Harmonious numbers sang ; 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet *, 
Soars far abeen, wi* pinions fleet, 

Warding the stormy bang. 

But thou, sweet flower, decayin crafh'r, 
Hard bleachin wi' the roarin blast, 

Maun bear the peltin storm \ 
Shedding thy dying honours round, 
Dull nodding to the chilly ground^ 

A dreary lifeless form. 
* Bums, 



(30 ) 

Fell blew the bitter op'ning spring, 
Yet cantily thou spread'st thy wing, 

Abeen thy parent" clod ; 
Nor like the garden-tented flowers, 
Requiring artfu' (hading bowers, 

Tc bield or mak thee snod. 

On mountain's brow, or foggy den, 
Or wild untrodden pathless plain, 

Thou srnirk'st aneath the bay \ 
Exulting in thy virgin hue, 
Thou glint'st wi' modest chearin shew, 

Keen glancin in the ray. 
So have we known a genius swell, 
In some obscure sequester'd vale, 

In all the soul of song \ 
Invok'd by hope and nature's fire, 
And yet by bleak misfortune's ire, 

Unknown he hail'd the throng. 

But why should I, in pensive strain, 
Gang heavily out o'er the plain, 

An' sing in dowie care ? 
Tho' hoary winter's mere'less rage 
The helpless daisie cannot wage, 

It fa's to rise more fair ; 

Sic be my fate, whan drearie age, 
Derf winter's scene, a wearie stage* 
Invested, chills my blood % 



( 3i ) 

May I, like thee, sweet fiow'ret, falj, 
Then rise obedient at the call, 
To pleasure's lasting ilood. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

I. 

W^hile pinks an' daisies deck the mead. 
An' Nature, in her mirky dead, 

Maks canty a' the plains ; 
While wanton lambkins wildly prance, 
An' shepherd swains gambol and dance, 
Chanting their hamely strains j 
I shed myseP frae scorching sun, 

To spin a verse o' metre ; 
Whiles in anger, whiles in fun, 
A fickle, gy*pit creature -, 
Whiles wanton, an' rantin, 

Wi' pleasure that's nae srna% 
Whiles wearie, an' drearie, 
I strive 'gainst poortkh's blaw* 

II. 
I marvel muckle fou that I, 
Sae joggl't wi' adversity, 

Shou'd e'er attempt to sing $ 



( 32 ) 

Sae junnied on frae day to day, 
Wi' ne'er a blink o' fortune's ray, 
To gar the muse tak wing j 
Or o' the sweetest flow'ry glen 

I shou'd tak ought delight, 
Whan ilka day is care or pain, 
An' wearie is the night ; 
But nature, thy feature, 

An' mien o' various kythe % 
Tho' dour-like, or sour-like, 
Ye mak me knief an' blythe. 

III. 

Aince by a trodlin burnie's side, 
Whare crystal waters smoothly glide, 

I musing sat a while ; 
An' hearin a' the birdie's sing, 
Some on spray, an' some on wing, 
The ling'ring hours beguile ; 
Methought I saw my former life • 

Laid open to my view, 
Whare various sweets an' sours were rife, 
An' follies no a few. 
Yet lastly, that fastly 

Which closes human toil, 
That surely, that hourly, 
Gies me some cause to smile. 



( 33 ) 

IV. 

Full drearie dim I saw again, 

The door of death, the bleak domain, 

The winter o' my span > 
Crouchin, hirplin, twin't o' bield, 
Wan wi' sorrow, craiz'd wi' eild, 
Fulfilling nature's plan : 
But yet I saw the guiltless mind 
Gade easy unoppress'd ; 
When something whiskit i' the wind* 
The guilty's ne'er at rest. 
It pleas'd me, it eas'd me, 
To see the blessed way, 
That led me, that gae'd me, 
The never-failing way. 

V. 

It's now the twa-an-twentied spring, 
That I've o' life had tak o' string, 

Which near concludes the morn ; 
Then noon come on wi' decent fouth, 
Till sax-an'-fourty ; then the routh 
O' pleasure taks the turn. 
Fu' blythe wi' uppence i' my purse^ 
I'll soufFit ilk day louder 5 
E 



( 34 ) 

An' whan it's teem, we'se canny turse 
Wi' pock out owre our fhcu'der. 
An* happy, wi' my cappy, 
Aside some social fire, 
Galantin, an' rantin, 

TJ1 join the raggit quire* 

VI. 

But Sandy, lad, cou'd you an' I, 
The powers o' vanity defy, 

An' keep by wisdom's rules, 
Shou'd Poverty wi' raggit pow, 
trig by your ingle cheek for chow, 
Yet we cou'd jeer at fools. 
Ye Powers who grant a humble wish^ 

To me but lend an ear : 
May we the peace of love embrace* 
An' trace her steps sincere. 
Wi' bliss then, we'd kiss then, 

The ling'rin hours away, 
At even, nor grievin, 

We'd close the langsome jday\ 

VII. 

Had I the power to change my state, 
Wou'd I wi' fortune fix my fate, 
An' heap up sordid gain ? 



C 35 ) 

No ; jocund friendship's social charms, 
Can chase the ling'rin hour's alarms, 
More than the regal train. 
The limpid stream, and crystal tide, 

That wimple thro' the glens \ 
The canty notes, that smoothly glide 
Thro' rosy velvet dens, 

Mair pleasing are, mair easing are., 
Than grandeur's transient gleam, 
Mair friendly are, mair kindly are^ 
Than pomp's exulting dream. 

VIII. 
It's, nae doubt, hard to sit like sunks^ 
While ither snottie lousie blunks 
Are fending gay an' snug ; 
Yet be content, my canty chap, 
An' tak yir share o' granted hap ? 
An' fear na Fortune's tug. 
An' honest heart an' conscience leal 

Will langer ftan' the test, 
Than ony peevish near-gaun teal 
Wi' 2t his girnel's grist. 
It's pleasin, it's easin, 

Whan social brithers meet f 
Wi' dour fock, an' sour fock* 
I never cou'd agree't. 



( 36 ) 

IX. 

Oh ! what avails the wardly pelf, 
To ane that never kent himself, 

Nor tender pity shows ? 
Whose flinty heart no feelings share. 
Nor liftens to the needy' s pray'r. 
But smiles at human woes. 
His shining idols, banefu' trash ! 

Keep still his sense awake j 
They're all his god 5 they're all his wish f 
Nor can his soul partake ; 
Still carin', an' fearin, 

Lest fortune prove unkind j 
Still grudgin, or drudgin, 
He wavers as the windo 



Then since contentment brings relief, 
Lilt's banish hence baith care an' grief, 

Our tack's but short at maist j 
Lat's jeuk aneath misfortune's blast, 
An' chearfully forget the past, 

While houp points out the rest 5 
Then owre the rugged scene o' life, 

Wi' tentie heed we'll tread, 
Till Time the fatal scissars give, 

An' Fate severe the thread., 



( 37 ) 

Nae care then, nae fear then, 
Cheer'd by some purer ray, 
Full blest there, we'll rest there, 
No more revolving day. 
Stricheriy March 1803. 



TO MT AULD HAT, 

A routh, hattie, ye may gtng yir wa^ 
Tho' aince as black as onie craw, 
Wyte weel I dinna like to blaw, 

Yet I may say, 
Ye wis a cap-stane weel worth twa, 

Aince on a day, 

Yon Sabbath mornin, weel ye min ? , 
It's nae sae very lang sinsyne, 
Tath I gaed shankin aft to shine, 

Al kirk o' Deer *, 
Than I had you fu' weel in twine, 

Wi ? costly gear, 

A buckle o' the gowden sheen, 
A silken ribban, ding cou'd nane \ 
A string, its maik was never seen 5 

Sax times about : 

* Deer, (Old) a parish in Aberdeenshire, 



4 #. ) 

© fou yc glanc'd in Jennie's een, 

An' heart, nae doubt ! 

Whan drift out owre the hillocks blew, 
Or roads wis dauk, wi' blinnin stew, 
I cockit you upo' my brow, 

An' spankit aff - 9 
Thinkin that 'tween me an' you, 

I wis na draff. 

Gin onie chiel had coolie scaw'f, 
Sic's groogl't crown, or raggit waut, 
Wad we na jeer't (in trouth nae faut !) 

At ilka flaw ; 
An' ready whyles wad been to blaw't 

Wi' puffawa'? 

The butter flee, in simmer- bra ws, 
Unthinkin, skims the suckl't wa's, 
Till Boreas girns, an' roun' her blaws, 

Baith hail an' rain, 
Then she, like you, prophetic shaws, 

The warld's vain, 

Sae chap ye yont, ye filthy dud, 

An' crib some docker's chuckie brood, 

For if paveein I might scud, 

'Mang Jemmie's sprush, 
Really they'd think, I was a bud 

Frae senseless drush. 



( 39 

How sweet the hours o' youth's gay scene I 
We frisk awa' in sportive teen ; 
Yet fast comes on the dowie e'en, 

An' sways the scale. 
Then aft in grief, an' care, an' spleen, 

We end the tale* 



ADDRESS TO SAUTIE*. 

Hail Buchan's boast ! thou great Sautward ! 
I hail thee as our steady guard I 
I hail thee wight, not as a bard 

O' kittle verse - % 
But as a feckless punny shard, 

Low on my a—, 

Wight o' the north ! diviner great ! 
But leeshins me w? pow elate. 
To sing o' thy hell-grammar'd pate, 

An' wizard prief^ 
That unto thee our wardie blate, 

May spread its leef. 

* A pretended Necromancer, on the east coast of 
Buchan, who, for a series of years, has, by his artifice, 
imposed upon the most ignorant of the peasantry in that 
corner. 



( 40 ) 

Sure few's but heard o' thy great name, 
Your firm resolves, your deep-laid scheme, 
That owre Strathbeg * ye wisna lame, 

But teuk the flight ; 
Ev'n that may fpread to yirds thy fame, 

That's dauk as night- 
War 't na for thee, our sense, tho' clear, 
Wad scrimply tent whilk way to steer ; 
But blest wi' thee, we banish fear, 

An' dare ilk fae; 
Come nicks or hags, in front or rear, 

Be thou our stay. 

Wee fairies, warlocks, witches, deils, 
Brownie-knaps, or bogle-squeels, 
Or spunkies, bleezin throw the peels, 

In lightless night ; 
Thou can divine their nick-bred wheels 

As dear's day-light. 

Hobgoblins fudd'rin thro' the air, 
Clip kelpies i' their moss-pot chair, 
An' water-wraiths at in tack drear, 

Wi' eerie yamour ; 
Thou kens wi' thy great gift o' lear, 

Their nightly clamour. 

* A loch near his residence, which superstition mai 
tains he flew over. 



( 4i ) 

Thae phantoms, imps, an* specters wiT, 
That pest our ha's wi' frightfu' squile, 
An' a' that skims the bruntlin soil, 

O' brunt breem-sticks \ 
Thou see'sj an' hear'st their unkent style, 

An 5 waukrife tricks. 

How aft i' yon black vout, wi' scouts 

Descry ye a' their ins an' outs ; 

D'ye mind yon night ye measured snouts 

Wi' Nick himseF ? 
Yet cheeckie slink't auld sittie Cloots 

Wi* quick leg-bail. 

They tell that's deep in witchcraft lear, 
An' kens a maukin hag by hare, 
That aft they spy you i' the air 

In shape o' reuk | 
On yird a man j on ocean bare, 

A cod or fieuk. 

On that great night o' Halloween, 
Whan reed-cap't faries rant the green 3 
Aft on the win' ye're towrin seen, 

Wi' pinions steady % 
That eerie wights for to befriend 

Ye may be ready. 

War't na for thee, great wizard sage ? 
That's clad i' this fear-nothing badge* 

F 



( 4* ) 

An' wi' this darin fien's engage, 

Wi' awfu' binner ; 

An' a* their threatening cants presage, 

In won'rous manner. 

Our kye wad grow as' yell's the bull ; 
For maukins wad their milkness cull \ 
Our craps wad scouder on the kiP, 

As black's the creuk ; 
An' meal an' maut flee i' the mill, 

Frae neuk to neuk. 

Our pleughs wad scarcely tak the yird 5 
Nor nowte upo y the pasture herd > 
Our gray beard pigs wi' dreadfu' dird. 

In fiinners fung, 
An' lums in wiers to get a dird, 

Or downward flung^ 

Ev'n whan a pair o J lovin fock 
Taks on auld Hymen's haly yoke y 
May ye be there, a steady rock, 

Or trouth I hix y 
Ilk body true, may hintin mock 

The fumlin pair* 

Sae fare ye weel, auld Sautie, man ; 
I'm sma' behauden to your cann, 
Tho' now ye eidcnt seethe the pan 
O' Magic bree, 



( 43 ) 

Yet ken auld Bob at end o' span 
'S the first ye'll see. 



JOCK DOIVNIE'S LOST. 

LiAT intimation now be given, 
To a' the waiT, dead an' livin, 
Owre crookit knowes an' meadows even, 

Frae coast to coast, 
Thro' mazy woods that owlet's rave in, 

Jock Downie's lost. 

Is there a creek about the shore, 
Or jeukin creuk about yir door, 
Or ony secret hole or bore, 

That can be gloss ? t, 
Guide bless ye a' ! sic parts explore, 

For Downie lost. 

Mark weel 1 he is a nimble bit ; 
Baith keen x>' sight, an' quick o' fit \ 
An' faith he has a fouth o' wit, 

W little beast f 
Which gars us dree 'an unca skit 

O' downie lost. 

O mourn ye bards ! wi 1 dowie weed, 
Frae John o' Groat's to brig o s Tweed I 
Fa 



( 44 ) 

ftae.vile bombastics paint my leed, 

But derfly toss't, 
I habber wiF wi' doggrel screed, 

For Downie lost. 
Ye tunefu ? birds that hail the morn ! 
Ye patricks sfcreekin throw the corn ! 
Ye yelpin herds wi' aucht hours horn, 

Wakin the ghost, 
Shaw ilka yird that ye're forlorn 

For Downie lost 

Ye croopin corbies, black as soot, 
Hair frae the aik a dinsome rout j 
Ye robins hintin teet about, 

Fendin the frost ; 
Tell ilka ha' that fends yir snout, 

Jock Downie's lost. 

Black be his fa', wha had the blame, 
O* dingin him to plackless shame *, 
Whase social heart wis bent on fame, 

Yet aft wis cross* t \ 
O ! Fortune was a bunglin dame, 

To Downie lost, 

Buchan ! ye flinty-heartit howe ! 
7a 9 monie a pridefu* slieth ye stowe, 

* He left the place under certain pecuniary burdens 
owing, I believe, to him being a votary of the Nine 
whose amours are seldom advantageous. 



( 45 ) 

Wha on life's dainties nicely chow, 

Wi' endless gust, 
Yet left yir bard wi' fient a fiowe ; 

An' now he's lost. 
Ye trash o' men ! ye human dross I 
That thro' the. war!' dourly scss, 
Yir hearts are steel, yir sculls are boss, 

Or buff at most ; 
Wad ye compare a hunner gross 

To Downie lost ? 



THE MUSE AND POET. 
A DIALOGUE. 

Poet and rich! 'tis solecism extreme : 
'Tisheighten'd contradiction? Shenston?. 

> 'Xwas in a lanely auld thack'd cot 5 

Intull a moorlan' glen \ 
Whare Fate had thrown a poet's lot. 

To live wi' scrimpit fen' ; 
Some musty books lay 'mang the reek, 

In tatterwallops torn ; 
Whare rattans frae the sods wad squeak, 

Afraid tq see the morn. 

A turff lay beekirvyont the bink. 
To toast his frosty taes ; 



( 46 ) 

A caller burnie was his drink, 
That howder't down the braes : 

Wi' crunkl't brow, he aft wad think 
Upo' his barkin faes ; 

At ither times he'd gie a blink, 
An 7 houp for better days. 

In this dauk clime, the meagre sot, 

Than laugh, wad aftner grane, 
His coffer ne'er retain'd a groat, 

That he cou'd ca' his ain ; 
Thalia, a muse o' meikle note, 

Sat like a tapit hen ; 
Then 'ssay'd to change his russet coat 

By chearin o 9 his brain. 

MUSE. 
Lilt up yir springs, ye dowie fliep, 

Nor hing about the ingle ; 
Or tak the inn w? tipplers deep, 

Whare caps an* trunchers jingle ; 

I like fell ill to see ye sleep, 
Or blaw yir chanter single, 

I ay wis ca'd a canty riep, 
Sae sever had a pingle. 

POET, 
Steek In your gab, ye coaxin jade, 
I wm I'd never seen ye \ 



( 47 ) 

Its like to gar me rin reed-mad, 
Sae monie a hour's I've gien ye ; 

My hips are peekl'd wi' censure scadd ; 
Sae to the grun' I'll preen ye ; 

My thought's upo. the ploughman's gaud, 
An' then I'll ride abeen ye. 

MUSE. 
Ne'er fear the critic's scornin chat ; 

Or back-nip bunglin blather, 
He's bit a glomin flichteriff gnat. 

Can bang nor win', nor wather* 
For tho' yir fen' will never bat, 

Be thankfu' wi' hale leather \ 
Some day my wit'll coff y'a hat, 

An' busk it wi' a feather, 

POET. 
Och on ! yir wit's a tott'rin post> 

A rash amang the water % 
Now douff wi' poverty Fm lost, 

Then tippence gars me clatter ; 
Now proud o' high Parnassus toss't g 

On fleet Pegas' I spatter ; 
Anon, among the dirt expos't, 

To ilka auld wife's clatter. 

O happy is that douce-gaun wight, 
Whase sayl ne'er mints a swervis* 



f 4§' 1 

But glowrs wee! pleasM at's cutchack's light, 

Has sense his ev'ra nerve in. 
The glornin o' his life's full bright, 

Nae trivial fame deservin \ 
He's blest, while I maun spen' the night, 

Wi' care an' hunger starvin. 

MUSE. 
Houp for the best, an* pump yir brain, 

Till Patrons upwards heeze ye 5 
Syne ye may bark at a' the tram 

Q* critics that abeeze ye \ 
Siugin upo' the" verdant plain, 

Till shepherd- callants reeze ye, 
Ye'il bing up siller o' yir ain, 

For iient ane can refeeze ye. 

Compar'd to you, what's peevish trag, 

Or beaus wi' cleadfu' triggin ? 
Compar'd to you, e'en kings are lag, 

Or lairds wi' coochie biggin; 
Yir sangs en after days will wag, 

Fan i' the grave ye're Hggin 5 
An' brethren o' the Nine will brag. 

An' rant upo' yir riggin. 

POET. 

Hale be yir heart, my cantie quean, 
Yc've set my saul a-Iowan , 



( 49 ) 

Fu' cheerie aft wi' you I've been, 

Amang the yallow gowan. 
Bevvitchin is your tale, I ween, 

Which sets my e'e-ba's rowan ; 
O' Helicon I'll swig bedeen, 

As lang's the burnie's flowan. 

On yon broom-brae aneath the birk, 

Whare first I 'gan to woo ye, 
E'en till the glomin glimmert mirk, 

I to my oxter drew ye : 
Inspire me then, an 5 ilka lirk 

O' Nature's visage shew me, 
That I may bang ilk critic's jerk, 

Whase snarlin spite wad mou' me* 



THE CADGERS' MARES.— A Tale. 

To a Young Friend, a Particular Acquaintance ff 
the Author. 

Segin betimes, my juv'nile friend, 
T' encourage cautiousness of mind, 
An' banish pleasure that doth flow 
From self-debase or ithers woe, 
Which soon or late doth never fail 
To gi'e dire mis'ry scoup to wail. 

Tho' fortune, wi' a smiling mien, 
Hath plac'd ye 'yond bleak poortith's pain I 

G 



C 50 ) 

Yet recollect, dear Sir, that Fat^ 

Possessed is wi' a fickle pate ; 

An' aften, whan our houps rin high, 

Adversity will change the gap 

The man to poverty that's born, 

May smile at Fame's obstrep'rous horn - 9 

An' cannie may he ward the care, 

Which might disturb his lowly sphere, 

Wi' blythe content, whase chearfu' smiles 

The backward ling'rin hour beguiles ; 

An' tho' adversity shou'd lour, 

The fa' is easy, 'cause he's poor. 

The rich, the contrair, may succeed, 
An' rise to fame wi' tentless heed ; 
Or cunning wiles an' sleekit stealth, 
Or yet by pawnin o' their wealth, * 

Dear-bought, the loss content an' health. 
Be Grandeur shifted o' its soil, 
An' plac'd wi' Poverty a while, — 
Then gloomy thoughts infest the mind, 
An' ilka hour blaws adverse wind-, 
Spleen, grudge, an' hatred, restless care \ 
O' ev'ry sour o' life they share ; 
And aft in frenzy dire they sink, 
An' gie each gangrene care the blink. 

Sae wi' twa lines o' fabled graith, 
Pse gie ye 'n emblem o' them baith^ 



( 5i ) 

Not that ye shou'd heap riches by, 
But ward the skaith of penury. 

'Twas i' the month o' bleak December, 
Ae caller night, I weel remember, 
The sun wis scantly beetle-height, 
An' snaw-flaighs teuk their hameward flight; 
John Frost began his nippin nick-nacks, 
An' play'd his treaks upo' the winnacks •, 
Nature wis streekit on her back, 
W? a' her childe^ near at vrack, 
Peghin as it had been her last, 
Teghing wi' the rampin blast. 

'Twas at this time, in coothie Buchan, 
Whare better fendin is than brochan, 
Twa cadger-chaps war hameward plyin 5 
Wi' skate an' haddocks baith up-cryin, 
Till sair forfbughen, warsh an' wearie, 
To Gibbie's^ door each ty'd his meerie^ 
An' cause the night wis caul an' blae, 
They ca'd for hame-b'rowst usquebae ; 
There sat them down, an' teuk their clatter. 
An' teem'd the whisky owre like water, 
Ne'er thinkin o' their twa aul nags, 
Wi' fell tir'd shanks an' right teem bags* 
Whiles stannin i' the lythe o' ither, 
Whiles jeukin to defend the wather. 

G 2 

* A famous innkeeper 



C 52 ) 

The tane wis quiet, never grumml't, 

Tho'lankness through her painches rumml't; 

The tither wis a pridefu' yade, 

A grumphin, girnin, snarlin jade, 

Wha had been braw in life's gay mornin i 

Sic usage pat her heart a-burnin j 

Aft fidgin wi' a dour-like grane, 

Glumpin wi' a sour disdain, 

Till at a stand what way to turn, 

She wi' a youl began to mourn : 

« Whan I think o' the days that's past, 

It gars me wish the dreary last ; 

Drumly to bang the frosty win's, 

Yarkin sair thir crazy banes. 

Do ye na grummle, neibour Meg ? 

Care ye na for the blast a feg ? 

This dreadfu' night an' lang stan' here, 

Is mair than ony beast can bear ; 

111 guidin sure maks wather caul, 

An' hungry kytes mak beasts leuk aul* 

Oh ! did I think the day wad come, 

That I shou'd bear a cadger scum,— 

Me that has sic a boast o' blood, 

And roun' the course had wofit to scud 

For plate, an' purse, o' glancin hue, 

Which aft I've made my master's due » 

That plac'd me sae abeen the rest, 

That I hae been m 9 lords carest j 



( 53 ) 

Behaud mc now, tho' ance a lacker, 
A stinkin cadger's worn-out packer > 
Behaud me boun' fast wi' a helter, 
My master drinkin helter-ske-Iter, 
An' my aul hurdles currock cross't, 
To win' and wather baith expos't, 
Which saurs right ill wi' me, wha aince 
Wis thought to hae baith wit an' mense. 
O Death ! thou friend to beast an' body, 
That aft to lift the lade is ready, 
Yir dart I'd think it smooth as butter. 
To fling me in some stinkin gutter, 
Or yet to pluck me a' in pieces, 
An' tan my hyde for diff'rent eeses ; 
Syne seethe me in a boilin caudron, 
That tykes mith gnash me like a baudron. 
An end like this wad be mair pleasin, 
An' to my wither't shaums mair easiiu 
Than tytin on frae e'en to morn, 
A stranger to baith hay an' corn % 
, An' syne to be (it gars me weep) 
So subject to a cadgers wheep. 
I've boast o' blood, an' shou'd be treated, 
An' no' like scum o' cattle hated.? 

So en't the yade, an' wi' a grane, 
Held down her head, an' sheuk her mane. 
While Blythe her neibour 'gan to crack 
Wi' sense, altho' a cadger's halk : 



( 54 ) 

•* Now, troth, it gars me gauf an' nicker, 

An* rant an 5 fling to see ye sicker j 

Fve heard my gutcher aften mutter, 

That pride wad some day dight the gutter \ 

Now ye right direfu', to yir Cost, 

Hae been in pleasure fairly lost ; 

An* wi' caul pride, that banefu' guest, 

Ye've for behind left prudence plac't ^ 

If ye had ne'er embraced the bridle, 

Nor rantit mony a lang day idle, 

At waddins, fairs, an' cursed races, 

Ye ne'er had grain't, tho' ill yir case is. 

See me aneath the rairin blast, 

As weel as you, an' tied as fast ; 

Yet i' my face there is contentment, 

Far hence is care, or caul resentment. 

To rustic labour I was bred up, 

An' ne'er to idle seat was fed up ; 

But a' my days at pleugh an' cart, 

Or harrow's drudge, I've play'd my part , 

I ne'er was great, sae ne'er was proud, 

Nae sumptuous fend, but hamely food, 

I teuk wi' pleasure what was sent me, 

Sae naething then cou'd discontent me ; 

Now, whan I get a mamen's leisure, 

I can glowre back on youth wi' pleasures 

An' bless that day, till time extoll't, 

paat I to poverty was foal't. 



( 55 ) 

My blessing on the cantie Cottar, 
For many a time, wi' hyte an' hotter, 
He's hail'd me in a simmer mornin, 
Wi' muttie cog, an 5 puckcle corn in $ 
Then whislin owre the benty lay, 
He's cheer'd me a' the lee-lang day. 

Yir master cadger, gang an' ask 'ica, 
Gif ever ebbin Fate did task 'im. 
Gin mole-blin' Fortune ever steers 'im. 
Or black Adversity e'er fears 'im 5 
Or gin his mind's a sot to riches -, 
Or flinty Care his snout e'er twitches : 
Ye'll find, if ye yir lug incline, 
His sentiments co-joint wi' mine* 

Can chance-bred Fortune's slidd'ry ba r 5 
Or back-gawn Fate gie him a fa' ? 
Can sour Adversity e'er touch 'im, 
Sin galling riches canna clutch 'im I 
Or Care, wi' saul as hard as steel, 
Bit ding a spur into his heel ? 
Ye see him there enjoy his cap, 
Wi' his aul neebor, drouthie chap 3 
On feats that's past he'll dwall wi' scope^ 
An' forrat leuk wi' pleasin hope* 

Pray what is blood, conceited fool ? 
Or what is* has been^ Grandeur's scool ? 



( 56 ) 

I care as little for yir pride, 

As currocks dis, that on ye ride \ 

An' tho' the storm shou'd downward blaw ye. 

Nor man nor beast will pity shaw ye ; 

The fate o' nature's justly stated, 

Whan idiots are like idiots treated. 



A Relation of the Death fJ**** A****'s d*g 

SPOT? IE ; wrote andfent to him* 

Ae day, just near the en' o> winter, 

Whan the burns cam tum'iin down ; 
Whan the cattle tiawe,an' blinter 

To the loch for drink at noon •, 

Spottie keen, a neebor's collie, 

Through a moss cam rinnin hame,, 
Skippin lightly on ilk shullie, 

Wyte he hid na scar nir lame. 

Lang he ran, through meers o' heather, 
Scornin dykes, an' knaps, an' stanks, 

Till birr, a maukin wi' a fudder, 
Startit up wi' souple shanks. 

Spottie, wi' his wonted fury, 

Drew his spauls up for the chace ; 
An', in desperation's hurry, 

Plumpit through a shull o' ice, 



( 51 ) 

Now he's left to sprawl an' shiver, , 

Death's gult yawnin at his mou' ; 
But in pity to deliver, 

Cam a gaudsman frae the plough; 
Draws him out wi' his lang weapon, 

Waes my heart, he's owre near death 5 
Swall't wi' waiter, sair he's gapin, 

Gaspin for a puff o' breath. 
Sair they leukit on ilk ither, 

Sair the gaudsman hang his head ; 
An', like a tender-hearted brither, 

Said to Spottie, nearhan' dead, 
u Now, my doggie, since yir gawin 

Down wi' death, nae mair to grieve 
Gin ye've ony conscience gnawin, 

Tell't afore ye tak yir leave." 

« I hae twa three things to tell ye, 

'Fore I gang my hinmost road , 
Few there is like weei fails me, 

That ne'er fan' a ccnscie?ice brod. 
Tell my master J**** A****, 

He's an elder o' the kirk -, 
Tell him that ye gat me sprawlin, 

Saw me gie the hinmost jerk. 
Tell 'im that I muckle priz't 'im, 

That he was a master guid ; 
H 



( 5« 1 , 

But I lang an' sair advis't hh«* 
To gie owre i!k sinfu' deed. 

No to pilfer on a Sunday, 

Whan he has the beggar's cap ; 

No to do as he did yon day, 
Drink sae muekle o' the cap. 

No to fike \vi' yon wild hizzie, 

Janet's dochter i' the glen ; 
No to job wi's servant Lizzie, 

In aul Luckie's bed the ben. 

No to cheat whan he gets ha'pence, 

For the beggars o' the Ian' ; 
For a saxpence gie them thripence ;.. 

No to lie, nor curse, nor ban. 

No to parsons be a tell-tale, 

Upon chaps- that's won the .steel j, 

Thise the deil will him to hell trail, 
A place that sets him unca weel." 

Nae mair he said, but cock't his tail up, 
Streek't him out, and sheuk his head ; 

Syne wi' a dolefu' grane an' wallop^ 
Num'er't him amang the dead. 



( 59 ) 

To J**«* A****, on hearing that a Girl W 
*tvith child to him. 

I. 

Whan glomin grey cam owre the liff, 

An' birdies teuk their nest ; 
Whan gizzent craigs, an' drouthie sauls^ 

Gaed whare the ale was best ; 
Whan currs began to woufF an' bark, 

As strangers pass'd them by \ 
I heard a carlin grain an' yelp, 

*■ Alake, alake, for ay ! 

*« O death ! come crack my wearie Hfe 5 

An' lay me 'neath the sod \ 
This is the warst o' a' mishaps, 

'Tis war than death's fell trod ; 
That blackguard A**** i' the glen, 

May muckle sorrow fa' 'im \ 
He is the cause o' a' my wae, 

The devil south-cast blaw 'im. 

III. 

« O let his chanter ne'er play wheep* 
Sin' wi' its witching skrieks^ 



( 'to ) 

^It's dung my joints as stiff's a rung* 
An' wat my wizzent cheeks j, 

He's play'd my dochter Meg a skyte, 
Which weel "has coft the gibbet j 

Hiss tak him, Nicjde, ti yir vout ; 

But nae or he be , 

To death yon day." 



On the Rev. Mr B****** y S Alfoluthn from the 
Church* 

\ he muse, now in a pensive strain, 
Maun tine her cants o' smirkin fain, 
An' sing the sorrows o' the plain 

O' backgawin sheep ; 
Scornin to rair wi' yellin train, 

But dowie weep. 

Heartless, an' baugh B # ** # ** for you, 
She eyes a gaunt forsaken crew ; 
Tho' Buchan has haul herds anew 

To haud her right \ 
For tentin flocks, there's nane like you 

Has sic a slight. 

Oh waes my heart ! to hear them.bleatin 3 
Limpin dytit like an' greetin, 



( 6i ) 

Wi' scarce a hap-warm fcnd-caul teat on, 
But's torn mV fhiffin ; 

While ithers hae their sides near spleetin, 
Wi 1 downright laughin. 

Whan they gang frae the criv at morn, 
Wild-like an' wees't, they tin forlorn , 

Some thievish tak their peihour's corn, 
An' cram their kyte ; 
Ithers maun thole a shepherd's scorn, 

An' da ma 1— -. 

Ree teeps that your soun' judgement cruhbit. 
An' for mad frricks hae afien druhbir. 
Till they repentin wad a sobbit. 

An' grain't, an' sigh't, 
May gar some hoggies bleer't an' hlubhlt, 
Gae shun the light. 

O B******, stanch an' creadless rock, 
That aft hath bang't Tod-Lowrie's shock , 
How afc we've seen yir thrivm stock, 

Come tytin hame ! 
An' mintin ilka stap to bock, 

W i' pangit wyme. 

Sweet was the fendin that ye gae them t 
Nae wither't harigal to dry them : 
To drumly water wad ye cry them ? 
O never ! never I 



( 62 ) 

To burn o ? crystal wad ye hie them, 
To synd their liver ! 

My heart is really Ifke to brak, 

To see the badge torn frae that back, 

Wha wont, sae rapture-struck, to crack 

O' pastures green j 
An' scadd the fae, baith blae an* black, 

Afore our een. 

Our herds, O v/ae befa' them a', 
That sae bambouzFt you wi' gaw ; 
What tho' ae dautit hog or twa 

Yir stamack crav'd *, 
3 Twas your guid-will, an' that was law, 

Baith seal'd an' sav'd. 

Then fare ye weel, my cantie chap, 

May battin plenty be yir hap, 

Lang, lang to wieP Correction's strap 

A yon' the ocean * 5 
An' wag yir thumb, an' shak yir crap, 

Frae land o' Goshen. 

* He went for the United States of America, 



( *3 ) 



FA ST REN'S E'EN*. 



-Thus they rejoice, nor think, 



That with to-morrow's sun. their annual toil 

Begins again the nerer-ceasing round. 

Thoms&s, 

Whin kail-yards 'gin to shaw their snout 

Abeeh the wreathes o' snavv ; 
An' vernal win's, wi' bitter blout, 

Out owre our chimlas blaw ; 
Blythe Fastren's E'en near ilka lowe 

Paps in his gaucy snout, 
An' helps the rantin race a jowe, 

Wi' mony a rair an' rowte, 

An' yelp that night> 

In Buchan braw, that cantie neuk« 

Wha dings a' Scotland's isle, 
For coothie callants roun' the creuk* 

An' maidens feat an' leal", 
A swargh o' gladsome neibour fock, 

That glomin did forgather 
About the town, to sport, an' joke* 

An' rant wi' ane anither, 

Right blythe that night, 

* Fastren's E'en is a night of great festivity in the 
north of Scotland, probably on account of its being the 
night preceding the Lenten Fast, 



( 64- ) 

A 1 buskit trig in brawest dead, 

They wont to wear on Sunday, 
Silk ribbans knit ilk lassie's head, 

She gat in Hansel-Monday ; 
Sprush i' their graith, the ploughmen louns 

To see their joes fu ? giggie, 
Cock up their bonnets on their crowns, 

An' dreel their cares to Wiggie, 

Clean aff that night. 

Now brofe % ' a lusty bicker fills, 

To grace the cotter's beerdf, 
Weel clad wi' fat in greasy bells, 

To mak a tasty wierd ; 
The young gudewife plumps in a ring, 

Cries, " Lay yir ban's about ye ; 
I ken ye're a' upo' the wing, 

An' fain for ane to clout ye, 

Fu' warm some night." 

Sae on they bang wi' cuttle-haste, 

To seance their fortune fair ; 
The tailor choakit near amaist, 

Which gae them a' a scare : 

* Eccf-brcse corrmcnly begin the feast, into which a 
ritjg is thrown ;, and whoever catches it first, will be de- 
cidedly in the bands of wedlock before nest Fastren's 
E'en, 



( 65 ) 

Dcil tak yir wierds, quo he, an' pegh't, 

Wi' dunts upo' his hurdies; 
They redd his wizzen wi' a fechc, 

Sae gatna mony wordies 

Frae him that night, 

VI. 

The aul guidman's right eident now, 

At makin o' the ba' *, 
An ? o' the leys to gar her rowe, 

They place them raw an' raw % 
The hails is set, an' on they scud, 

Wi' peltin youff an' yark, 
Till mony a wight amang the mud, 

Lies peghin in his sark, 

Fu' breathless the night. 

VII. 

Tib Tamson's sin*$ade owre the knowe, 

Wae worth sic dreadfu' wark ; 
Hech, down he fa's like ony yowe, 

An' raise ken-spreckle mark ; 

" My days is done," quo he, an' grain'r, 

Sae gat anithcr straik •, 
I 

* The foot-ball is greatly in praftice on this night ^ 
probably to shew their vigour, or rather an eagerness to 
prove the contents of the bottle, as there is betts laid, 



( 66 ) 

He liftit's e'en, art's kirnel sain't, 
Herse as a corn^craik, 

Wi plypes that night* 

VIII. 

The Blacksmith niest, a rampin cheii, 

Cam skelpin thro' the breem ; 
Vow he was black as ony deil, 

An' in an unca feem \ 
The pridefu' Tailor cockit's e'e, 

Ban't Brookie as wan wordy ; 
Young Vulcan dang his snout a-jee, 

Which gart him tak the sturdie, 

A skaith that night. 

IX. 

The hails is wun, they warsle hame, 

The best they can for fobbin ; 
Twa three o' them, this waefu' game* 

Has gi'en a hearty drubbin. 
Some mizl't shin fell sair hath bled , 

Some tae's corn weel chapit \ 
An' some, that wadna like it said, 

Hath got their noddles knapit, 

Right sair the night. 

X. 

Young Jeanie to the barn has gane, 
Tho' she is unca eerie § 



( 67 ) 

But she is right new-f angle fain, 

To see wha is her dearie ; 
She sleeks the door up to the wa', 

Syne owre her weakest shouder, 
She wechts the corn anent the blaw *, 

Thinkin her joe wad scud her 

Fast by that night. 

XI. 

Lang winnow't she, an' fast, I wyte, 

An' snodly clean't the stuff, 
Whan something hin' her wi' a skyte, 

Gat up, an' gied a fuff; 
She bang't the wecht wi' sic a birr, 

An' cried, the L — d be here ; 
An' wha it was that flegit her, 

She didna wait to spier 

At them that night* 

XII. 

The maiden niest gaed to the kil' *, 
An' taks the blue clue wi' her, 

12 

* When, it she has a fearless heart, and enjoys the 
privilege of sight, she indisputably will have the pleasure 
of beholding her future conjugal yoke-fellow pass through, 
the barn. 

f This is a spell which requires both a stout heart arid 



( 68 ) 

She bade ane near the door stan' still, 

Or fate shou'd something gie her ; 
She wand the clue wi' tentie han', 

An' cries, " Wha hauds ths end o't j } 
But knap it braks, an' tho' she fan*, 

She didna bide to mend it, 

But heel't that night 

XIII. 

But wha was there but Sandie Blunt, 

Wi' lug as gleg's a wummle j 
Wha lay incogs and gae a grunt, 

Gart her styte barla-fummel ; 
« I kent," quo she, " 'twas some good gift, 

To fleg me was na handie ;" 
The callant kent the lassie's drift, 

Sae play'd her h e, 

Clean aff that night 

XIV. . 
Jock Din is to the yard right sly, 
To saw his wierdin piz *, 

a steady hand : — The clue is thrown into the kiln, while 
she holds the one end, and begins to wind ; then cries, 
M Wha hauds the end o't ?" i. e. who holds the end of it ? 
when she receiveth for answer the name of her future 
husband j but, if none answers, then it is prophetic of 
her dying a maid. 

* Which he does in this form ;— One tox each faset- 



( 6 9 ) 

Whan something twiesh him an' the sky, 

Set up a frightfu' gizz ; 
An' wha was that but daft Jean Can*, 

Wi' twa lang scrogs o' wattle ; 
She bom't him wi' the same lang spar, 

He plumpit i' the scuttal, 

Ovvre's lugs that night. 

XV. 

He tew, an' peghin stytert hame, 

Weel soupl't wi' the peel ; 
Out gat the hav'rels wi' a scream, 

'S gin they had seen the deil ; 
As to the fire he stottit thro', 

The gutters clypin frae him ; 
Aul Luckie sittin near the lowe, 

A Shirra-meer she gae him 

Right derf that night 

XVI. 

z* Wae wags ye, chiel, whare hae ye been, 

Ye've gotten sic a drabblin ? 
To gar me rise in sic a itcn f 

An' pit my tongue a-scabblin \ 

heart he may have occafion to have, or has in view, when 
the firft briered pea foretells, with undoubted furety, 'his 
unavoidable alliance with the girl it reprefent's. 



. ( 70 ) 

I watna bit IVe gotten a fley, 

I gatna sic anither, 
Sin Maggie flait the haukit quey, 

An' reeve her o' the tether, 

Yon luckless night ! 

XVII. 

The spring afore Culloden meer, 

Fresh rins it i' my min' % 
Thae days I was right hale an' fier, 

Aneath the linkum twine; 
A' body shewe, that had to saw, 

For rigs was braw an' dry, 
An* we to haud our Fastren's staw, 

Whare best we thought the gy 

Wad be that night, 

XVIII. 

Meg Sowter's sin, a mautent loll, 

(For sair the wife beam-full't him), 
Teuk thro' the feerd a dytit scull, 

I kenna what bewrill't him ; 
Some spunkies, or some same-like ills s 

Fast after him they leggit j 
An' monie a day he ran the hills, 

He was sae sairly fleggit 

That vera night." 



( 7i ) 

XIX. 
But now the eggs come in a dish *, 

Weel hoordit by this aught days, 
Quo' Grannie, trouth I wyte they're fresh* 

An' a' this season's laughter's, 
I've casen eggs this fourty year, 

To mony a lad an' lass ; 
An' what I said, baith douce an' queer, 

Has ever come to pass, 

T' this vera night. 

XX. 

Wae worth ye, wabster Tarn, what's this 

That I seegaupin gumlie, 
The bodom o' the glass, alas ! 

Is unca blae an' drumlie ; 
Sae may ye skook yir brow an' skool, 

An' flypin hing yir head ay ; 
Some waefu' quine 'il ride the stool, 

For you, afore the Reeday, 

I'll swear the night* 

XXI, 

O weel's me on you Jeanie Din, 
Braw lass 'at thou will be ; 

* An egg is broke, and thrown into a glass amongi! s 
little water, for each individual, where the fate of futu- 
rity is difplayed in a most wonderful manner, 



( 72 ) 

For ye'll nae mair nir wyve, nir spin P 

Whan aince you're twenty, three ; 
There's goud in lumps, ye lucky jade, 

O how it glints an' glitters ; 
Ye'll get a laird o' Ian' I'll wad, LL 

In spite o' a' their witters, 

An' craigs yon night. 
XXII. 
Now ilka lad an' lassie's fate, 

Is, foul or fair, decided ; 
The hotchie reams, the girdle steams, 

An' litt'lans rin clean doited, 
Young primpin Jean, wi' cuttie speen, 

Sings dum' to bake the bannocks *, 
While piper Jock, to gar them cock., 

Gars reesle doors an' winnocks* 

WV dron that night 

XXIII. 

Auld daddy hodgin yont the bink, 

Fu' blythe to see the sport ; 

j- Bannocks made of the eggs, with a little oat-meal 
and butter - ? and she that undertakes the baking of them 
mull (however many provocations she may receive) re- 
main speechlefs till they are finished \ then, if flie do fo, 
she is looked upon as an apparent to the bands of Hymen 
ftfddenly \ but if she cannot reft rain her loquacity, she 
is in danger of bearing the reproach of a by (hot, i. e. a 
hopeless maid, 



( 73 ) 

Cries, " Fill the stoup, to gar them jink, \\ 

An' on the bannocks clort ; 
Whan I wis young wi' canty crap* 

Than dwaliin i' the Gash, 
My reem-ln nap in cog an' cap, 

Gaed gilpin roun' like wash, 
On sic a night. 

XXIV. 
Hale be yir crowns, my canty louns* 

Tho' age now gars me hotter, 
I'm blythe to see a rantin spree, 

And fain wad thro* ye totter ; 
But I'm content, to see ye spraint, 

Right free o ? dool an' care ay j 
A risin race, I wish ye grace, 

T* enjoy the sweetest berry, 

O* yir life the night." 

XXV. 
They clank right chearfu' roun' the beerd-. 

For now its wearin late, 
They wyle the bannocks for the wierd, 
The pea * that grannie set ; >. 

K 
* As there was a pea dropped amongft part of the 
bannocks, each receives one, and mull eat it before the 
company *, and whoever has the good luck of catching it, 
has alfo decided their fate fts to the furety of wedlock* 



( 74 ) 

A' tramp their feckfu' jirkin fu, 
To sleek aneath the bowster * * 

Syne blythely part a' like to spew, 
Thankin the cannie browster, 

For that yon night. 



SONG. 

Tune. — Last time I came oer the Muir* 
I, 
V? han ragglish winds blew o'er the hill, 

An 5 stormy was the weather, 
Emotions soft my breast did fill, 

For Nell amang the heather. 
I thought upon the artless tales, 

Whan firft her love allur'd me, 
The kisses sweet, an* witchin smiles. 

Whan she of bliss ensur'd me* 

II. 

Beneath the birk or scented thorn, 

How aft Fve hugg'd my treasure !■ 
Ev'n till the sober night's return, 

In love exceeding pleasure j 
I trae'd her steps with looks sincere, 

Till Phoebus' light grew fainter j 

* The bannocks are equally divided at parting, when 
they place part of them beneath the pillow to dream on. 



( 75 ) 

Then struggling fore 'tween hope an* fear, 
My fancy aft wou'ci paint her. 

III. 

Ye gods ! what raptures fill my soul j 

hn' yet wi' fear I tremble, 
Lest absence an' the fates controul 

Should make my love dissemble. 
No ; hence ye fear-bespeaking thought ! 

Each vile idea's slander ; 
That beauty which my fancy bought, 

Bears not a heart to wander. 



SONG. 

Tune. — Humours of Glen. 

I. 

jS^ear high to;v'ring Mormond, adown i' the valley, 

Whare gay glintin daises adorn the plain ; 
Whare the lark an' the linnet do warble so gaily, 

An' echo divulges the plaint of ilk swain ; 
By the brink o' yon burnie, that sweetly doth measure 

The plain to the ocean thro' willows so gay ; 
My fancy oft wanders a-seeking my treasure, 

For there lives my Jeenie the flower o' Lonemay. 

II. 
She's fair as the morning that darts on the mountain, 
Gay as Aurora with lustre so grand, 
Kz 



( 7<5 ) 

Mild as the zephyr, and clear as the fountain, 
Straight as the pop'lar adorning the land. 

Her cheeks are the crimson, her brows alabaster, 
Her breath is far sweeter than new^mawn hay ; 

She smird when I spafc, an' I said nane surpass'd her, 
An' calPd her my Jeenie, the flower o' Lonemay. 

III. 

What is riches an* fortune, that we shou'd but hanker, 

Or what is the treasure that India bestows ; 
I spurn ev'n Empires, an' think Kings a canker, 

To be whare the gowan in yon valley grows : 
Did I think she but ey'd me as innocent fancy 

Does tell with delight, that she sings when I play, 
Td laugh at young Will i' the green wood wi* Nancy, 

An' live i' yon cot wi' the flower o' Lonemay. 



so N G, 

Tune. — Lass of Livingstone* 

I. 

^Thare hae ye been, my Nelly, lass, 

This morning fair, this morning fair, 
I lang'd to see thy bonnie face, 

So sweet an' rare, so sweet an' rare. 
The dew hings sour in drowsie blabs, 

An' has nae shew, an' has nae shew ; 
The lav'rocks steek their tunefu' gabs ; 

When twin't o* you, when twin't o' you. 



( 77 ) 



II. 

Now hear the shepherds chearie pipe, 

In cantie strain, in cantie strain, 
Come let us pu' the berries ripe, 

On yonder plain, on yonder plain, 
Then dreel your flock out owre the lay, 

Alang wi' mine, alang wi* mine, 
Tis sweet to see the lambkins gay, 

Sae sleek an' fine, sae sleek an' fine; 
III. 
What raptures sweet wad fill my breast, 

An' daunt my woes, an' daunt my woes* 
If I cou'd on that beauty feast,. 

Which you disclose, which you disclose ! 
Then be not slack, my dearest maid, 

To gie consent, to gie consent, 
For youthfu' beauty soon must fade 5 

It is but lent, it is but lent. 

IV. 
Whan spring, the darling o' the year, 

Comes chearie in, comes chearie in ; 
Then frae yir fang my pipe will lere, 

A gleesome din, a gleesome din. 
Til shield ye in my t2rtan plaid, 

Whan winter comes, whan winter comes j 
An* wi' my pipes Til make ye glad, 

Wi' cantie hums, wi 5 cantie hums, 



( 78 ) 

V. 
Thus will we fleg the lazy hours, 

An' smile at care, an' smile at care \ 
Braw to busk, whan winter lours, 

Or simmer's fair, or simmer's fair. 
Wi' love we'll spend the passing year, 

Amang the bent, amang the bent ; 
An' houp for days baith hale and fier, 

Wi' blythe content, wi' biythe content. 



SONG. 

Tune.— Wat ye ivha I met yestreen. 
I. 
.Ahin yon braes, whare D-veran streams * 

Its beaming flo d adown the vale, 
There lives a lass, 'tis Jcenie Weemyss, 

The beauty o' sweet Gaskins dale. 
Her daddy ploughs the ri^ggit clay, 

Her minnie tents the lowin kye, 
An' Jeenie's canty, brisk, an' gay, 

An' lo'es me, yet she's unco shy. 

II. 

I hinna cash that can prevail 

Wi' Jonnie Weemyss, her daddy sour j 
But I hae flocks the vera wyle, 

That owre the hillocks wildly scour : 



( 79 ) 

A dwalling house fu* tosh an' snug, 
O' meal a trampit girnal fu', 

A bowie barmin at my lug, 

O' slockin swats, the barley broo. 

m. 

A braw peat stack afore the door, 

Wee! clad wi' sods an* divets roun' % 
An' wha wad hint that I am poor, 

Y/han I'm guid man o' a the town I 
My father wins in Salton's Ian', 

An' he has muckle gowd an' gear ; 
Now he's an' auld, but horieft man, 

An' I'm his heir ye needna spear, 

IV. 
Then Jeenie fearna simmer's drouth^ 

Nor winter's bitter frosty blaw, 
For my ha- house contains a fouth 

O' a' that's guid, an' warm, an' braw 
An ? think na lang my bonnie lass, 

The day is no that far awa ; 
Whan I'll come loupin o'er the grass* 

An' mak ye mistress o' the ha/ 



( 8o ) 
SONG. 

Tune, — Tweedside. 
I. 
O saw ye my Jean on yon brae, 

Or came she by yon water side ? 
I've sought her this lang simmer day, 

In ev'ry wild bush that wou'd hide. 
By the banks of the sweet winding Tay> 

On yon gowan'd lawn she was seen - r 
Some shepherd mair lovely than I, 

Hath stole the dear heart of my Jean. 

II. 
Be still ye wild warblers at morn, 

No choir let be heard in the grove ; 
Let the birk be forgot, an' the thorn, 

Where the chorus was join'd by my love. 
Ye shepherds that wantonly 'stray, 

O gather my flocks hame at e'en ; 
That I 'mang "the wilds may delay, 

An' mourn the, sad loss of my Jean* 



SONG. 

Tune.— i?w/i« Castle. 
I. 
IS low loud ye breeze, and roaring storm, 
Be drearie ev'ry woodland charm, 



( 81 ) 

Be hush, the numbers of the day, 
Let ev'ry warbler leave the spray ; 
Ye riv'lets gay, meancTring long, 
How oft ye've heard my careless song 9 
Sucii heart-fek scenes with bursts accrue, 
When tears, exclaiming, bid adieu. 

II. 

Sweet scenes of youthful pleasures gay ; 
Sweet scenes of Fancy's magic ray ; 
Sweet scenes of bliss, — alluring charms, 
Which now awake my soul's alarms. 
Ye Friends of many a social hour, 
Since adverse Fate doth threatening lour, 
What heart-felt scenes with bursts accrue, 
When tears, exclaiming, bid adieu ! 

III. 

Farewell, ye verdant blooming plains % 
Farewell, ye sportive neighb'ring swains, 
Where I in life's sweet morn of glee, 
In harmless pastime ranged free. 
Farewell, sweat Jean, my prcmls'd bliss. 
Thou soul of joy, now grant me this,— 
Let that which binds my heart to you 
Be lock'd for evermore — Adieu. 

L 



( 82 > 
SON G, 

Tune, — Ettrick Banfo. 

O KiRstie ! how sae lang frae me, 
An' frae rejoicing nature been, 

Whan ilka shepherd, wild an*' free, 

Skips o'er the blythsome gowany green ?: 

Lat's taste the breath o' spring sae mild, 
While cauler dew-draps hing sae clear, 

While round their dam ilk lambkin wild 

/ Gambols to hail the coming year. 

II. 

lieadr we our flocks to yonder braes, 

Whare teeming pleasures meet our een 5, 
Whare daisies glint in sunny rays, 

In favour o' my darling Jean ; 
Whare bonnie speckl'd verdant meads 

Can cheer the sadden'd dowie brow % 
An' lav'rocks flutter o'er our heads, 

Or rant amang the balmy dew. 

III. 

The troddlin burnie i' the glen 

Glides cannie o'er its peebles sma ? ;- 

Whare saughs an' willows gently ben 31 
Afore the soughin breeze's blaw ; 



( 8 3 ) 

There couM I hug thee to my breast, 
An' chant my love in artless strain \ 

There guileless on thy beauty feast, 
Nor wish for India's boast of gain. 



SONG. 

Tune, — Rutin Castle. 



I. 
JL he soaring lark, at twilight grey, 
Brings tidings of the dawning day ; 
The chirping linnet and the thrush 
Awaken morning in the bush 4 
The merry shepherd o'er the hill, 
Blythe tunes his pipe with right good will \ 
And every thing is bless'd but me. 
Lone musing on the banks of Dee, 

II< 

You little warblers of the spray. 
Your matin songs a while delay \ 
Ye shepherds, with your pipe and crook, 
Go join the murmurs of yon brook 4 
Your hymning choir it tears my soul, 
More piercing than bleak Winter's scoul $ 
Eliza now proves false to me, 
And leaves the bonnie banks of Dee, 
. La 



( 84 ) 

Ill- 
Pure stream ! how gay* ye wind along, 
Once pleasing to my careless song ! 
Now thy sweet banks, in beauty drest, 
Bring sorrow to my youthful breast. 
See how thy silver nations play ! 
Their brilliant splendour dart the sky , 
? Mong pebbled streams, in sportive glee, 
They frisk adown the banks of Dee. 

IV. 

In yonder grove, where violets bloom, 
And woodbines spread a sweet perfume, 
My reed shall tune the pensive lay, 
And join the turtle all the day. 
My careless crook, my hopeless plaid* 
My dog that wildly reams afraid, 
I now bequeath to shepherds free, 
That stray along the banks of Dee, 



SONG. 

Tune.— 'She rose atf loot me in. 



I. 

O wat ye wha's in yon wee howe, 
Aneath blythe Mormond's braes ? 

Young Nelly, whare the hawthorns grow, 
Sin 25 bleachin at her claes* 



*$ 



( 85 ) 

An' Nelly is a bonnie lass, 
The flow'r amang them a' ; 

Whan trippin owre the gowany grass, 
She staw my heart awa'. 

II. 

My Nelly dear, come owre the knowe, 

Wi' pearlins buskit braw, 
An' Til convoy ye thro' the howe. 

As fat's yir daddy's ha' •, 
An' shou'd yir minny you misca', 

Because ye was wi' me, 
My dear, I'll tak ye frae them z\ 

An' lo'e ve till I die. 

4 

III. 

The wanton Iouns in Crimond slacks, 

Gang trig to kirk an' fair, 
An' woo her love wi' a' their knacks, 

But she has nane to spare ; 
For she lo'es me, an' I Ij'e her, 

An' wha dare say it na ? 
JVIe a' her houp, she a' my care, 

In contars o' them a'. 

IV. 

O' a' the nights that e'er I spent, 
This towmond sax an' twa, 

The tither night amang the bent, 
I'm sure was worth them a' % 



C 86 ) 

Come poortith dire, come fortune fair. 
Come winter's frost an' snaw, 

My heart will ay be free o' care, 
Tho' Nelly be my a\ 



My lovin lass, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' ye ha'e little gsar, 
For tocher rare I never greed, 

My ain's but sma', I fear : 
<Jin health attend, an' ban's keep hale, 

Flee thought an' care awa, 
I'll win our bread, wi' little toil, 

Nor cease to love ava. 



SONG. 

O'er heath-clad moors and desart wilds, 

Young Annie trips right free \ 
Admiring Nature's rugged ssenes, 

She treads the lonesome lea ; 
The waving willows and the birks, 

Which Nature wildly strews j 
She eyes with sweet bewitching mien, 

Blythe hears the whistling ploughs. 



( 8 7 ) 

II. 

On mjrtle groves of foreign lands* 

She thinks with proud disdain ; 
Tho* purer skies, and warmer suns, 

Exalt the flow'ry plain. 
The burnie todlin down ilk glen, 

O'er Caledonia's land, 
Her wildly- scat ter'd fir-crown'd hills, 

Young Annie's thoughts demand. 

III. 

O gay are Scotia's hills an' dales ! 

Her glens an' gowan'd plains, 
Whare gleesome swains in concert tend 

Their flocks in gladsome trains. 
Gou'd I young Annie's favour win, 

Ye monarchs boast in vain ^ 
No pompous title cou'd impose 

On me, to leave the plain. 



An Ix FIXATION to the DaISIE in SPR2B&. 

O come, sweet gem, the summer's pride^ 

And paint the mountain's brow \ 
Sweet chants the lark adown thy side 5 

Inviting thee to blow. 

The storm is o'er, and frosty wind 
No more usurps thy rest j 



( 88 ) 

Then, blushing flow'refc, let me find 
Thy bosom sweetly drest. 

Pure virgin, now the sun is crest 
III robes of bright array j 

Young zephyrs rant, in easy jest, 
To give thy spangles way. 

No longer sleep, thou charming bud, 

The fields in verdure lie, 
All nature pants in longing mood, 

To view thy bosom play. 



To the Music-Bells of Perth. 

Sweet blythesome things that lilt sae gay, 
Wi' monie a gleesome sportive lay, 
An* fleg§ awa' the langsome day 

In cantie strain, 
An' far out-dings the chirpm spray, 

Or chokin glen, 

Can I be silent i' yir praise, 

Like some dour sots wi' hums an' haes, 

That^rummle sae on Sabbath-days, 

That ye shou'd clink, 
An' haud ilk ane as mortal faes, 

That sing or drink ? 

Na ! be the gowan dead in simmer ; 
An' has the hemlock scent like am'er, 



( 8 9 ) 

Arv be dead-dowie ilka Cummer 

That wont to sing ; 
Ere I despise sweet music's clamour, 
Or thy wild ting. 

Fu' weel ye chear the dowie heart 
Wi' thy braw sleekit cantie art \ 
Weel can ye play the choirer's part, 

That glads the ear ; 
Sae wanton wild, sae funnie smart, 

Thro' a' the year. 

Nae lassies that sae cantie sing, 

Or iav'rocks blythe on fiaff'rin w T ing, 

But tines ilk ncte whane'er ye ring, 

Wi' cantie jow ; 
An' listen to thy peerless jing, 

Wi' steady pow. 

Whan beauties thrang upo' the Inch, 
Maun bang the bleachin larig an' staunch, 
An' carelessly their bare legs drench 

Wi' blabs o' dew ; 
Regardless o' the Thrush or Finch, 

They listen you. 

Sic's " Corn-rigs" or « Banks o' Tweed," 
Ye gie a won'rous witchin screed, 
Harmoniously in sportive leed, 

Ye chant away , 

M 



( 9° ) 

Like you there's nane on brae or mead, 
Can tune the lay. 

Whan I'm hauf sleepin, noddin, winkin^ 

Or douceiy at the ingle thinkin, 

Or 'mang the browsters rantin drinkin, 

As I'm right aft ; , 
Yet wild or douce, to hear thee clinkift 

Pits me ay daft. 



% 



* 



Awa' ye pealin rummlin quine * 
That 'mang the reelin warl' shine ; 
Whan your rude roustin pelts combine^ 

Wi' thump an* clash * 
'Tis mair to gar our senses tine, 

Than glad our fash. 

I've haurd my honest neibours say, 
That whan ye 'gan to croon an' bray, 
Ye was the Deil's harsh spokesman ay r 

To gar us shak, 
An' fleg us frae the chosen way, 

FTae white to black. 

Then, hauf-hour sentry, chant awa' -ft 
An' warn's how fast our hours withdraw ; 
That we wi' houp may busk us braw,. 
Frae tae to ear ; 

* The auld kirk bell. 

f The music bells of Perth play every half-hour. 



( 9i ) 

An' sing thy praise aboon them a', 

Ilk blythesonae year. 



MIDSUMMER FAIR, PERTH. 
I. 

W han Phoebus glints fu' lang an* brisk, 

An' scorches sair the plain ; 
Whan wanton lambkins blythly frisk, 

An' sweetly sings ilk swain : 
In blythe St John's, that ccothie hole, 

In countra annals famM, 
There hauds a Fair, I wyte fu' drollj 

In thick carmudlie cram'd 

O' fun this day. 

31. 
Scarce had the sun goup't owre the lan% 

Wi' dazzlin yallow blaze, 
Whan a' the kintra, wife an' man, 

Are snod in Sabbath's claes ; 
Here Tarn, wi' Bess, comes skelpin on, 
Wi' han's an' face weel synit, 
• Here farmer Rob, an' miller John, 
Wi' cash their pouch weel lynit. 
For drink the day. 

M2 



( 92 ) 

III. 

The browster-wives are eident lang, 

Right fain for a' thing snod, 
An' brawly they can sing their sang, 

An' best o' tidings bode. 
Brisk reemin cap their gantry pangs, 

In daftness for decantin ; 
Whilk gars some fallow fin' his wrangs 

O' puffie rifts an' gauntin, 

Or pukes niest day, 

IV. 

Lang jargons now gae thro' the fair, 

Frae Hee-gate Port * an' downwith ; 
There's some fu' wylie shaw their ware, 

An' ithers baul it roun' with ; 
Sae weePs they'll point the sellrif stuffy 

Their stock's a' solid v/are $ 
An' gin ye get wi' them the bluff, 

Sure dinna trust them mair, 

By night or day. 

V. 
Yet, friends, tak tent, thir wylie chaps, 

Are fairest i' the outside ; 
Yqx whan their crackit ware get knaps^ 
They haud to you the stout side, 
*, High- Street. 



( 93 ) 

My trouth, foment the guard-house door, 

Meg Angus sair wis blinkit ; 
She coft frae this wild tinkler core 

For new, a trencher clinkir, 

Sae frail that day. 

VI. 

The hurly-burly thrangs ding-dang, 

Wi' fock o' ilka station ; 
The cairds turn up a loyal sang, 

For usqusebae libation ; 
Horse- Jockies thro' the Shoo.gate* rant, . 

Wi' monie a roust an? rair -, 
While monie a drucken bousin saunt, 

In yon house sweel their care, 

Clean aff the day. 

VII, 

The huxter carlins baul fu' loud, 

« Come buy the gustie fairin -, 
Ginch bannocks sweet mak noble food, 

To chew wi' reestit hen in 5 
There's sweeties here o' a' kin-kin', 

We'll sell ye cheap an' good, 
Sae binna hainin o' yir coin, 

An' lack sic famous food, 

As this the day." . 
: - South- Street. 



{ 94 ) 

VIII. 

The Norlan' chaps adown the street, 

Turn out their worset hose ; 
" Our shanks'U bang the roughest feet, 

An' peer the brawest does ; 
Right weel we wat they're hashlock oo, 

The best *at e'er wis creesh't, 
It cam frae wild Lochaber crew, 

Its maik is nae atweesh't 

An' this the day." 

IX. 

The drums w? reeslin weir-like tuck 

Bid sair to draw us roun' them, 
The corp'ral cries, " Wha try their l\ick s 

Here's whisky-punch to drown them* 
The sergeant swears a haly aith, 

The first she sees right willin, 
Nor guinea's worth o' reemin graith, 

Nor five an' twenty shillin, 

Sail twin's the day." 

The wabster-callans, awfu' chaps, 
Hae now nae thought o' knackin, 

But cantilie the heapit caps 
Haud them fu' eident crackin ; 



( 95 ) 

For thoVon ither nights they whiles 

Raise politic debates, 
This is a time that civil broils 

Are drown't in plashin spates 

O' drink the night. 

XI. 

Now racer jades, an' wizzent bawds,, 

At ilka closs-head Stan', 
Cleekin pursie frae the lads, 

In failin beauty wan : 
Keep yont, ye kintra caftan's, now, 

Frae thir bewitchin gentry *, 
Or else the pelf '11 pay, I vow, 

For garnish an' for entry 

'Mang them the night: 

XII. 

The hurry-burry thranger grows, 

Wi' bourachs o' ilk trade y 
The queans fu' fiery frae the stews, 

Enlist some kintra blade 5 
Wi' sleekit gab they fleech him fair ? 

He thinks his station dingair ; 
An' 'cause he coups the reekin ware* 

They peel him like an ingan, 

Sae bare the night 



( 9* ) 

XIII. 

Douce fock, beware, wauk circumspect, 

An' prudent keep a distance, 
Frae thir unruly vengefu' pack. 

That's naething sib to Christians ; 
Whan clorty whores to brothels mete, 

Thro' mirkest vennels sally, 
The sons o' Belial tak the street, 

An' thro' the city rally, 

Heroic the night. 

XIV. 

Leuk down the gate, what squabble's thon, 

That ca's the thrang's attention, 
Some Flesher wi' a gaumon bone 

Bears aft the gree frae Samson, 
Like Hercules, or war's bauld god, 

He shaws himsel He&orian, 
Till heel-owre-head he gets a scud, 

For a' his awfu' gloryin, 

An' vaunts that night. 

XV. 

Tak care, my chaps, for now wi' virr, 

Comes cockit hats an' staves \ 
An' e'er the rupture's fit to stir, 

They hail the bluidy knaves ; 



( 97 ) 

Some blameless birkie i* the thrang* 

Lats consultation pick 'im ; 
An' by the cuff he's led alang, 

An* settl'd wi' some niccum, 

In quad yon night. 

XVI. 

Come, fiddlers, gie yir strings a twang, 

An' rozet weel the bow, 
An' scrieck awa' a cantie sang, 

Frae Allan or Neil Gow ; 
For now the sun, nae doubt, for shame, 

Jeuks 'neath the westlinlift* 
An' ne'er a ane has scar nir lame, 

For ilka ane's in tift 

For reels the night. 

XVII. 

The kintra bodies, fy for shame ! 

Are nvill to ken the gate •, 
They graip an* styter, bent for hame, 

Whan it grows gay an' late ; 
The chields an' cummers, han' in han', 

That whisky wae betide, 
Daft on the fields, they tak them bieldsj 

An' clank them side by side, 

To daff that night, 



( 98 ) 

XVIII. 
O cou'd the hill o' auld Kinnoul, . 

In gabbin elocution, 
But fair divest, there's monie a soul 

Wad sairly need ablution \ 
Whan we hae hap to prie a cap, 

Or taste our sugar-candy, 
May ne'er the session's greedie tap^ 

E'er cleek in houghmagandie, 
Oursel' nae day* 

XIXc 

A drap o ? whisky's guid to see, 

Whan spirits laigh are sinkin ; 
An' trouth it settles monie a plea 5 

Sober or rantin drinkin ; 
Experience may lear' us fair 5 

Ae dram is full sufficient, 
An' mickle mair '11 grieve ye sair, 

Whan ye grow auld an' wizzent s 
An' stiff yon day, 



, On seeing IV G — N sleeping in 

the KlRX. 

" hatreck, ye drowsie drumlie flicp \ 
How dare ye mint to nod an' sleep, 



( 99 ) 

Whare icher haly creatures weep, . 

For past transgressions^ 
Wi' conscience penitence sae deep, 

An' lang confessions ? 

Swith hame, ye dizzy dytit tyke, 
An' nae come here yir een to pike ; 
Gae tak a nap at some sod dike, 

An' ease yir load, 
Seek onie hole 'at e'er ye like, 

But house o' G — . 
My vera flesh an' saul are gnawin, 
To see ye gruntin, soughin, blawin, 
An' whiles yir heavy noddle fa'in, 

Wi' lazy knyte ; 
Anon, yir leaden crown ye're clawin 5 

Wi' girnin spite. 

Now, shou'd the parson chance to see ye 3 
A braw gueed e'en I think he'd gie ye, 
I sudna wiss in trouth to be ye, 

In sic a blunner ; 
In maik o' swine he wadna lea'e ye ^ 

An' faith nae wonner, 

an' I war bit whare I wud be, 
Just whare a straik I cannie cud gie^ 

1 aike, an' wad yir heavy fud gie 

A piercin pike ; 

Na 



( ido > 

Pack to yir hammack whare ye sud be, 
Ye fousurn tyke. 



Epitaph on a Wag in S*******; 

Aneath this sod lies Sandie W***, 
We watna whare his dwallin's now \ 

Whan here, we ken what pleas' d him besU 
For wife an' ha', — a whore, a stew. 



For a Noted Lawyer* 

Here Iigs a wight o' awfu' note, 

Wha aft sleek' t justice by 'im ; 
An' e'en whan death cam glowrin ben* 

He thought he wad defy 'im. 
But, och ! the dog trail't him alang, 

An' lodg'd him wi' auld Satan * y 
Derf Pluto met him at the gate, 

An' yark't 'im wi' a bauton. 

Quo' death, " There's ane'll jink your wit, 

A dog o' kittle sense, 
Be sure ye lodge 'im in a neuk, 

Whare brimstane reeks intense." 
* Trouth sae we sail," quo' Hornie dour* 

« He's sicker here, I'll caition, 



( ioi ) 

For justice is admin'ster'd stiff, 
Thro' a' our bleeztn nation." 



For 7**** jp****** ^■ J p***«**# - 

Here W****** lies, a maikless knave, 
To <r/W his post, to pilfer 's callin j 

Lat fortune lour, his lodgin's sure, 

The deil's his host, an' hell's his dwalfiru 



For a Friend. 

JJere lies interred below this stone. 
He who ne'er listened misery's moan 

Without a pitying sigh ; 
The gods look'd down, and saw in man 
Truth, love, and peace conjoint in one, 

So plac'd his soul on high, 



To the Friendly Society of &******* 

Mail friends in community linkit, 

To free ilka gray-back frae care, 
Sure rattle-pow'd poets may think it, 

They'll never want Hallowmas fare. 



( 102 ) ^ 

Corn-hoorders, an' meal-coupin p s, 

May appeal unto black Pandemon ; 

An' bann'how they've lang been their teachers, 
Yet left them in case of och-hon. 

-p****** G ***** may advise wi , auld Charon> 

How he at loch Styx may get thro', 
For he's sure o' the primitive Carron, 
Or else t' be timid need few. 

w **««* gftptfft an' a' the Nick tracers 
That heap up their pelf by deceit, 

May pray to the Cairnbulg * fishers 
To grant them the lug o' a sket. 

Since ye by yir friendly convention 

Have clad raggit poverty's back ; 
Ee't yir hearty an' earnest intention, 

To yark down Oppression to wrack. 

May success an' plenty attend ye, 

Wi' honesty mark'd in yir face, 
An' whan Heaven upward doth send ye, 

May ye leave a generous race. 

* A famous fifh-town. 



C 103 ) 

ODE, 

Written in Summer to ?*** G*****, Esq. of 

^V r HiLE hummin bees o'er hill and plain, 
Sweet lull asleep the drowsy swain, 

On downy banks or braes -, 
While lasses sweetly lilt and sing, 
Or rant around in pastime's ring, 

At bleachin o' their claise \ 

Beholding nature's various face, 
I wander on wi' thoughtless pace, 

Listnin ilk chirp'in spray ; 
Till down by Eugie's flow'ry linns, 
I rest among the blooming whins, 

From sultry parching day. 

What beauties do the shades disclose ! 
The shading birk protects the rose, 

Where G***** loves to dwell \ 
Blest in his fate, the humble swain, 
Seeks happ'ness on the rural plain, 

And bids the crowd farewell. 

O matchless G*^*** ! generous friend ! 
What numbers could thy fame extend* 
The mind so poiish'd clear \ 



C 104 1 

When thou so form'd to shine in courts* 
Yet joyous joins our country-sports, 
Thro' all the circlin yean 

I can discern on yonder plain, 
The home of many a rural swain, 

Thy grove-encircled seat ; 
Methinks I see thee careless stray, 
And cull the flowers which bounteous May 

Hath strew'd beneath thy feet. 

There todling riv'lets wildly play, 
Unseen beneath the shading bay, 

With many a silver trout ; 
Here daisies paint the velvet linns, 
There ingles clad with rushy rin's, 

Where fountains wildly spout. 

Adown the gtade the lambkin frisks, 
Untrodden paths the maukin whisks, 

In fearless sportive glee. 
The crooping rook his city builds, 
The lofty fir the mavis shields, 

The turtle skims the lea. 

No joyous murdVmg sportsman's yell, 
Dare wildly howl on hill or dell, 

All in their horrid pride ; 
No clown disturb the tiny train, 
In sylvan bush, or clover'd plain. 

That in thy bounds reside* 



( io 5 ) 

This leaves behind the city's boast, 
The baneful tribe that's wildly toss'd 

To vice alluruig gains ; 
This Leaves di' exalccd pomp of state, 
With all their pageantry elate, 

Which rural life disdains. 

Here liberty exulting strays, 
And fancy skips a thousand ways, 

The tide of joy to swell •, 
The loving pair, with accents mild, 
Guileless beneath the covert wild, 

May breathe the loving tale. 

Ye tuneful birds, at dawn of day, 
Thro' woodlands sound thy matin lay, 

In matchless G*****^ praise ; 
While Philomela's warbling tongue, 
Shall tune her peerless nightly song, 

Amongst the birken sprays. 

We see in him ilk grace combined, 
A generous, clear, unclouded mind, 

A feeling soul in woe • 
Let cloudless bliss, and lasting joy, 
Unhinge his care, and grief annoy, 

A heaven here below. 



O 



( io6 ) 



Epistle to J. i?******. 

Scorn'd be the wretch that quits his genial bowl; 

His loves, his friendships, ev'n his self resigns, 
Perverts the sacred, instinct of his soul, 

And to a ducat's dirty sphere confines. 

ShensUne* 

I. 

yt hile snaw the frosty bunkerts theek, 
An* hinds about the fire-side beek 
Their dead frost-nippit taes 5 
Or pale-fac't wights, wiVchurkin feet, 
Jogs Will amo' the wearie sleet, 
Wi' thread-bare raggit claes ; 
To keep my saul frae grumlin care, 

Or thoughts o' lank starvation, 
I write ye here some hame-made ware* 
Wi' sulky expectation ; 
Thinkin* yir rinkin, 

'Mang knabs o' kittle lear ^ 
Ye'll tear it, an' jeer it, 
Ca't buff beyond compare* - 

II. 

But haud me there, my clatter's rife^ 
Ben comes a flistin cankert wife, 
Just frae a neib'rin garret, 



t 107 ) 

Says, M Cease, you whimsy rattlin scull, 
Ye canna want it ! maugre snool 
To imitate a parrot ; 
My heart forebodes we'll get a scare, 

Wi' you some luckless mornin, 
Wi' beagles reeslin up the stair, 
T' gie y' a charge o' hornin ; 
Ye deave fock, an' grieve fock, 

Wi' roustin down-right blether, 
It's endless, sae stend less, 
Or else I'll tann yir leather. " 

III. 

" Douce wife," quoth I, " what means the fizz, 
That ye shaw sic a frightfu' gizz, 

Anent a kyte-clung poet ? 
It canna be an envious grin, 
That gars ye snarle a carkie chin, 
I never meant to beau it I" 
" Na, na," resum'd she wi' a sneer, 

Shamlin her gab a-jee, 
« Wyte weel I wiss ye hale an' fier, 
An' life wi' endless glee, 
But sorry I'm for ye, 

To see yir cloutless back % 
Poor caitiff, I doubt if 

Yir purse contains a plack.'* 



( io8 )• 
iv. 

This chuck't my gab, x to think a wee, 
How I buit thole sic stormia bree, 

An' tauntin frae a carlin ; 
An 5 yet I durstna creuk my mou', 
For weel I kent the tale wis true, 
" My amry fient a farle in ;" 
I thinks again, it cheers my brain, ' 

I've cantie frien*s the wyle o* ; 
1 cocks my snout, syne taks the rout, 
Just wi' a second holo ; 

Hammerin, an' stammerin, 

As if I'd been cork-headit ; 
I yelpit, an' skelpit, 

What dang mysel' to read it, 



*But a 9 this time the wearie muse 
Sat yont the bink wi' hingin brows, 

Till waukent wi' my rairin j 
Fell wild an' haggart was her mien, 
Like as she'd thol't some dreadfu' pain, 
Or been in sorrow lairiiij 
She made right haul to ken the cause, 

That made her wight sae vockie, 
I taul her how our neibour Mause 
Ca'd him a dytit buckie, 



( io9 ) 

Misca'd him, sail gaw'd him, 

About the rade o' singin, 
'Twas bootless, an' cloutless, 

« Weel, troth," quo she, " that's dingin." 

VI. 

Says she, " Fm blythe, an* mair na blythe, 
To see dame Fun upo' thee kythe, 
An' thro' yir fancies wam'le ; 
Ye've warded weel the carlin's taunts, 
Then lat's advance some decent tsiaunt^ 
Ye've had a lang pream'le ; 
For Tarn's a lad, ye ken yirseF, 

That wadna see ve wrang't, 
Then gie him verse the vera wyle, 
An' decent wit amang'c ; 
He's friendly, an 5 kindly, 

To chear a carking hour \ 
Whan dytin, an' snytin, 
A word frae hurt's a cure." 

VII. 

Compliance wi' my lass' direct, 
I'se doucely a' my gumption raick, 

While she sits glowrin owre me \ 
O Tarn, ye are a coothie chap 5 
As e'er exast in nature's lap, 

Or may the Fates devour me ! 



( »o ) 

Sweet love an' joy are i y yir smiles, 

An* pity's i' yir breast ; 
Lat furies chase him that beguiles 
Thy heart, the vera least ; 
Some smilin's beguilin, 

In this unsteady round j 
An' rudeness, as goodness, 
Experience hath found. 

VIII. 
In morn of life, how aft have we^ 
To list the shade's spontaneous glee, 

From tiny throngs retir'd \ 
Or, sporting by the riv'let's brink, 
The sweetest joy of life wou'd drink, 
With guileless love inspir'd ; 
O blissful days, surpassing ! gone, 

Too profulent to last, 
O youth ! how squand'ring of the loan, 
How prodigal to waste -, 

How careless, how fearless, 

Of coming hardship's cloy, 
Till age comes, with sage hums, 
To banish every joy. 

IX. 

1 never may the gen'rous mind, 
"Endure a sullen adverse wind, 
Or pinch in drearie cares ; 



( III ) 

If poverty deny him rest, 
May friendship never be replac'd, 
Which ev'ry loss impairs. 
How flitt'ring is ilk joy o' life, 

'Tis gone ere we descry't ; 
Our every hour would lig in strife, 
If friendship was decy't, 

Whose pleasures are treasures, 
More than the glitt'rinshew 
Of riches, who hitches 
A fool's uplifted view* 

X. 

How exquisite the loving friend, 
When sour adversity may bend 
The wight in dire distress ! 
'Tis then he views the friendly tie 5 
The feeling of the heart will vie 
With ev'ry other bliss ; 
No roaring stream, nor spiry rock 

Can e'er retard his steps •, 
Envy may scoff, envy may mock, 
Yet he his pleasure reaps \ 

Where groaning, where moaning^ 

In death-like torture lies, 
The friend, mind, will bend kind* 
Full eager to release. 



C 112 ) 

XI. 

Ye Powers whose careful strewing hands 
Do bounteously supply out lands 

With overflowing store, 
Deny me not a social frien', 
Remove me far from care an' spleen, 
Grant this, I ask no more ; 
Then, partial Fortune, restless, blind, 

Impart to whom ye will, 
I jeer thy paltry diamond mine, 
I spurn thy various drill,' 
Whose joys are toys, 

Unsteady as the wind \ 
Yet jimpin an' scrimpin 
To ev'ry feeling mind. 

XII. 

My muse sits dull, an' wi' a girn, 
Bids me hae done,, an' reel my pirn, 

Ere Morpheus beguile j 
Fu' fast she's ca'd the rim about, 
An' thraml't aff wi' awfu' rout, 
For friendship gae her oil. 
Shou'd I to earth's remotest sky 

In solitude be plac't, 
■Enraptur'd with that friendly tie, 
Mv bosom wou'd find rest. 



( W ) 

'Tis charming, disarming 
The noxious thought of fate, 

And smiling, beguiling 

Life's end-approaching date. 

XIIIo 

O wad ye come an* see our town, 

Whare Tay's sweet current wimples down, 

Fu' cantie an' fu' clear \ 
We've lasses here the vera wyle, 
Wha wad a carking hour beguile, 
Ah' a' yir senses chear •, 
I'd be right vockie wi' ye, man, 

An' twa three mair o's here, 
Wha wad right coothie coup the cann, 
An' toast ye hale an' fier \ 
Sae blessin, an' kissin, 

Befa' ye frae the fair, 
An' health man, an' wealth man, 

Shine on ye late an' air* 
Perth) Dec. 24. 1803* 



c u4 t 

PATIE AND ROBIE. 

r ; . 

-^ Pastoral Eclogue on the- death of Dr James 

BEAT TlEy late Professor of Moral Philosophy m 
Maris hall College , Aberdeen. 

PATIE., 

Come, Robie, whare the pipe ye*ve wont to hae ? 
Sure some daft quean hath dung yir saul to wae ; 
An'«whare's yir bonn't that erst wis buskit braw ? 
An' whare's yir plaid that bang't the norlen blaw ? 
Has some bit lammie: strayed ayont the knowe ? 
Or has some deadly yampher fell't a yowe ? 
That ye gang craz't, wi' bleers adown yir cheeks, 
An 5 hings yir head, an' granes, but never speaks ? 

ROB IE ♦ 

It's nae for queans, wi' caulrif nippin scorn. 
It's nae for raggit poortith hief nir horn, 
That I gang drearie frae the bucht alane, 
An' tines the pearly drappies frae my een. 
Last year derf Don cam down in furious rate, 
An' rampit o'er his banks, a doughty spate, 
That bore awa' just se'enteen wathers prime, 
An' saxteen yowes just at the lammin time ; 
Forbye three raw o' bonnie sprootin saugh, 
An' twa snug stacks o' sprotts upo' the haugh ;" 



Yet did I grane, or sob on brae or lea ? 
Or saw ye e'er a tear rin frae my e'e ? 
Or wantin plaid, or bonnet leukit hum ? 
Or wis my fliet or chanter ever dumb ? 
Na, Patie, man, sic triflin skaiths as thae 
Had never pith to daunt my cantie lay, 
Sic shabby losses stand i' little buke, 
Nir o' my heart wad e'er they shak a neuk ; 
But yet for Jamie maun ilk shepherd mourn, 
Shepherds to come shall weet his sacred urn. 

PATIE. 
Oh ! waes my heart ! nae ferlie, then, that ye 
Shou'd gang sae wees't, an' tine yir wonted glee ! 
Hence affye idle reed, for now thy strain, 
Brings twa-fald sorrow to a dowie swain. 
Dead ! say ye, ah ! my heart is chilly caul, 
Waes me ! whan I gae to the criv or f?.ul, 
Nae mair I'll hear his reed's harmonious soun'. 
Which aft has cheer'd in me a cantie stoun', 
An' gart me loup till I maist tint the gate, 
While wanton lambkins reel't in mirthfu' rate 
Weel might I ken, last night forbodk ill, 
As I was tytin lazy frae the hill, 
Something gat up, an' wi' a weeack dire, 
Gaed flaughtinjaff, an' vanish' t like a fire ; 
My Collie bouff't, an' rear't his'curlin birse, 
My sheep right erf ran bleatin ov/re the girse % 

Pa 



( ntf ) 

I sheuk mysel', an' soufPt to fleg the fear, 
But yet my heart foretaul some sorrow near, 

ROBIE. 
See how the birdies droop on ilka tree, 
For him whase notes cou'd chearfu' influence gie, 
Hear Don gangs mournin wi' a dowie din. 
An' bids ilk burnie leave its dearest kin, 
The flow'ry swaird an' gowany deckit linn ^ 
For now nae niair the numbers o' his sang 
Mak blythe the stream as gay it glides alang, 
Mirthless an* dowie it hears ilk shepherd's *loan. 
An' to the ocean bears the heavy groan. 

PATIE. 
How sweetly did he on yon foggy brae 
Point out the beauty o' ilk Scottish lay ! 
Blythe Allie's pipe, how did he praise the strain ! 
O' Fergie's reed he spak •, ilk listnin swain 
Lap wild wi' glee, an' sang his matchless skill, 
Which join'd the chorus did ilk neibourin rill, 

ROBIE. 

How aft upo' yon heath-clad mossy steep, 

(Whan glomin grey bade's gather hame our sheep)^ 

Have we beheld him dim' in musin mood, 

Or on the plain, or by the murm'rin flood, 

Or singin's lays o' Minstrelsy whase vogue 

Shall last while Terra on Us axles shogg •, 



( H7 ) 

Or o* the burn that down the craigie thuds ; 
Or o* the hawthorn's infant-sprootin buds ; 
Which gars mc weep, an' sigh in dowie care, 
To think that we can never see him mair. 
Nit's that alane the loss that we maun mourn, 
We'll thole the loss an' skaith at ilka turn ; 
For in bis saul .vis ev'ry guid combin'd, 
To mak him generous, coothie, warm, an' kind ; 
Which claims ilk sangster's weed o' sablest hue, 
Till sacred dirges pay the rites mat's due. 

PATIE. 

Had onie black mishanter been my fate, 

He'd cantie made me, be it air or late. 

Had ragglish win's untheekit barn or byre, 

Had hog or wadder lair't in bog or mire, 

Had wylie Lowrie cjeekit aff a lam', 

Or craggy heugh had thrawn a queack's shaum, 

Or onie graith gane vrang 'bout pleugh or cart, 

Or dorty queans gane arslins wi* my heart, 

M Chear up, dull callant, tak thy pipe an' play, 

Some cantie lilt," fu' kindly wad he say, 

That, or we part t, I hae been as fain, 

*S gin a' the warld wide had been my nain, 

ROB IE. 

The praise that's due to him gin we assay 

To speak'**, 't,wad spin the langest simmer-day ^ 



( iiB | 

Then let's be mute, for now Elysian lays 
His reed maun tune, an' weel he's won the bays, i 
Bays which, whan here, right eagerly he sought, N 
Now he enjoys, .an* thinks them easy bought, 

PATIE. 

Let us be wise, an* follow wisdom's fays, 
An' strive to paint an emblem of his ways^ 
Since happiness by honest deeds we'll wun, 
Let us, like him, ilk frenzied passion shun , 
Then, led by virtue, reach the happy shore, 
Whare dowie sorrow ne'er willgrieve us more, 
The court of bliss, an' pleasure's endless store. 



AN ODE, 
With, a Pastoral Recitative, on the Marriage of 

his Grace the DUKE of BEDFORD, and LaDT 

Georgina Gordon. 

JL o be whare daisies beautified field, 

An' whare the plains prolific pastures yield, 

See Nell an' Sandie brattlin down the brae, 

Sheep nibblin thrang, while sportive lambkins play } 

Far yont the burnie Geordie rins wi' speed, 

Nimmle o' shanks, his face like ome.gleed. 



( H9 > 

To tell them tid'ns,wi' glee their hearts will sting, 
While they unheeding dance, an' love, an' sing. 

SANDIE. 

Now winter is gane, an' caul' win's are awa;, . 
An' birken green bowers smile bonnie an' braw 5 
The Thrush an' the Linnet carol on ilk spray, 
An' flocks owre the mountains wild gambol an' strcr 5 
While Phoebus refulgent diffuses keen heat, 
Lat's down i' the valley seek caller retreat, 
While our flocks are reposing en yon burn-brae, 
Adown the clear fountain I'll hear thy sweet lay, 

NELL, 

O ! sweet rins the burnie meandering lang, 

To the shade where we wont 'mang the willows his 

gang ; 
There pu' the red roses, an' busk to our pleas V 
An' snuff the mild zephyr that soughs thro 1 th« tree?, 

GEORDIE, 

Daft gytlin things ! what gypltness is this ; 
Rairin yir love-tales wi' a hopefu' kiss ! 
Come sing wi' me o' things wi' far mair feck. , 
An' nae wi' daffin owre the bruntlin geek ; 
This day weel sets us to fling afF ilk care. 
An' wi' our glee gas ilka hillock rair, - 



( I20 ) 

SANDIE. 

Vow, Geof3ie man, what dings yir saul sae daft, 
Wi' chackit plaid, an' hose o' silken waft ? 
Come tell's the fun, that we may rant wi' thee, 
An' gie the simmer's day to mirth an' glee. 

GEORDIE. 
'Tis fun, my callant, that'll gar ye jump, 
E'en tho' yir saul war dead's a doeken rump ; 
Georgina, loveliest lass o' a' the plain, 
Frae Scotia's come, an' what'll mak ye fain, 
Consents wi' mutual love to bless the swain ; 
Consents in trouth, an' by this time they're knut 
In Hymen's bands ; — 

NELL. 

I'm like to tine my wut, 
Speak fast na, George, that we may a' rejoice, 
An' sing the happy pair wi' tunefu' voice. 

GEORDIE. 
What joy't reveals to ilka jieibourin herd, 
Be i' the chorus ilka tunefu' bird, 
The fairest nymph that ever trode the green 
Hath now confess'd by her love-laughin een ; 
That Bedford fair shall grace her nuptial bed, 
To us a bless'n, 

SANDIE. v 
An' a' the plain beside $ 



i 



( 121 ) 

It twines my heart-strings up to sic a pin, 
I b'lieve my saul will bout out through my skin, 
Come near me, Nell, let's kiss thy cheek an' lief, 
An' syne lilt happ'ness to the peerless chief, 
An' his lov'd mate, whase ev'ra charm's delight, 
Emblem o' virtue, an' o' beauty bright. 
Come gie's a sang now, lass, for I'm in.tift, 
To gar the notes bring echo frae the lift. 

NELLY. 
Wi' as guid-will's I e'er receiv'd a gift, 
(Sings.) 

Rejoice, ilk herd, owre hill an' dale, 

Till glens gie back the yamour , 
Tune up yir reeds wi' dinsome yell, 

An' music's sweetest clamour : — - 
A lily fair, o' ancient stem, 

Lang fam'd in Scottish story, 
Unices her love an' heart to him, 

Whase sires war Albion's glory, 

SANDIE- 

Blest in his fate, how happy's he 

Whan leaning on her bosom ; 
The weary guest she'll now let free, 

That's lang lodg'd in the blossom \ 
With love-exalted accents sweet, 

On ithcr fondly gazing, 

a. 



C 122 > 

Till gods perfection see replete, 
An' envy bliss amazing. 

GEORDIE. 

M'ajr peace an' wealth blink on their days, 

An' hap a blissful treasure ! 
Let joy an' love, wi' mutual rays* 

Ensure them lasting pleasure I 
While manly ardours fire his soul, 

For fame an* freedom soaring, 
Let teeming love, without controul, 

Be endless pleasure storing* 

CHORUS. 

Rejoice, ilk' herd, owre hill an' dale,, 

Till glens gie back the yamour ; 
Tune up yir reeds wi' dinsome yell, 

An' music's sweetest clamour : — 
A lily fair, o' ancient stem, 

Lang fam'd in Scottish story, 
Unites her love an' heart to him 

Whase sires war Albion's glory. 



EPIGRAM, 

U nto the mount of Ida once 
Three goddesses resistless came^ 



( 123 ) 

And earnest summon'd ev'ry glance, 
That could procure them beauty's fame. 

Then Paris stood in wav'ring thought, 
Which of the three he would prefer, 

While Venus the decision brought, 
By proff'ring woman peerless fair. 

So had Georgina blossom'd then, 
Ev'n 'neath Britannia's lonely skies, 

With raptur'd breast, the Phrygian swain 
Had claim'd her as his matchless prize. 



To Mr C ■ , on reading some of his 

Excellent Poems. 

Scotia may boast of bards with ardent fire, 
Since C tunes his lute so mild and free | 

What bard could paint, who tune the Attic lyre, 
Surpassing C — — 's sweet harmonious glee ? 

From Perthes plain, a bard of rustic hue, 
Delights to sing the numbers he admires, — 

Nor less delights to sing the praise that's due, 
And more he reads, more eager he desires. 

From morn to night, bewilder'd in a maze 

Of fancies vain, where Tay in cadence glides \ 

If sorrow lours, I summon to my gaze 

Thy matchless lays, where virtue ever guides* 



C 124 ) 

Pursue, sweet bard, the race you have begun ;— 
Give genius vent, — paint love and virtue join'd,- 

Till where the Indian first perceives the sun, 
To India back, all's in your praise combined. 



SONG, 

Tune, Humours of Glen. 
To the Athgle Volunteers. 

O whare hae ye wander'd, my loving young lassie, 

Your cheeks are sae bleer't, an' sae blubbit adown ? 
Methinks I hae seen ye link on the green gaucy, 

That leads o'er the mountain toPerth'sbonnietown. 
O busk yir locks trigly, an' kilt up yir coaties, 

An' dry up that tearie, and synd yir face clean, 
For auld Caledonia, dearie, my lot is 

To shine in bright armour o' Perth's bonnie green, 

SHE. 
O how can I busk, whan my heart is sae wearie ? 

Or how can I kilt, whan I'm dowie wi' care ? 
O how can I smile, whan ilk object is drearie 

To me, an' forebodes I'll see Donald nae mair ? 
Nae mair can the simmer's sweet daisy-clad valley, 

Nae mail can the lambkins that dance on the green, 
Nae mair can the lav'rock that warbles sae gaily, 

(Whan twin'd o' her Donald), bring comfort to 
Jean. 



C 125 ) 

HE. - 

Alas ! how it grieves me to see ye sae dowie, 

An' think that thy bosom sud rend wi' despair; 
'Tis honour that calls me, and fame beets the lowe ay, 

An' gratitude whispers defence o' the fair. 
Then chear ye, my lassie, the Fates are propitious, 

Dispel ilk vain sorrow, and banish ilk care ; 
My hopes are on peace, whase each charm is delicious, 

" An' then I'll leave thee an'Breadalbane nae mair." 

SHE. 

How sweet have we listen'd, ilk gay sunny morning, 

The spray where the choristers glad a' the plain ! 
Alas ! now I'll wander adown the glade mourning, 

An' tempt viewless echo to tell the sad strain. 
May Heav'n shield frae danger the laddie that io'es me, 

An' peace soon return, wha hath raptures to share ; 
Then the loves, (tho' in fondness), will read'ly excuse 
me, 

Whan he leaves his Jean an' Breadalbane nae mair. 



Written on the Author's Return to Buchan y i8cr. 

W elcome, ye coothie canty howie, 
Whare roun' the ingle bickers row ay ; 
Trouth I wis laith, an' unca dowie, 

Fan twin't o* thee, 



( 1 2,5 ) 

But now my heart will chearfu' glow ay 
Wi' rantin glee. 

Tho* Carse o' Gowrie was right gay, 
Its fertile plain, St Johnston's stay* 
Yet far awa' frae thee in May, 

Wis wae to think, 
An' douf, to mind o' cockin hay 

On Eugie's brink* 

Frae Mormond's tow'rin tap are seen 
The laughin Naiads bonnie sheen, 
Verdant the haughs whare aft Fve been 

Wi' love inspir'd, 
Sweetly in youthheed's mirky scene 

Wi' pleasure fir'd* 

Awa', vile trash, thou wardle's gain, 
Rackin our thoughts wi' care an* pain ; 
Full dytit's he that leaves the plain, 

In quest o' thee ; 
Gypit to fend, an' drumlie fain 

To live or die. 

Now, Buchan, thou'rt the canty neuk, 
Right cannie 'neath the wardle's leuk, 
Whare I may lig aside the creuk 

The ev'nins lang, 
An' frae derf Borean rustles jeuk, 

An' weave my -sang. 



( 127 ) 

Thro' heath-clad muirs in simmer-days, 
May I na blythely tune my lays ? 
An* whare the pleasant burnie strays 

Wi' tunefu' din ? 
As weel's amang the birk whare Tay's 

Gay currents rin ? 

As blythe upon a whin-clad brae, 
Where shepherds pu' the berries blae, 
An' whare the wanton lammies mae, 

An' hillock scours, 
As whare the shades reflect the ray 

Wi' glintin flowVs> 

Nature to me hath pleasing charms, 
Whan verdant simmer kindly warms- 
Or rairin winter ragin storms 

In wild career, 
Whan boilin oceans rude alarms 

The list'ning ear, 

Frien's, laith to part, now happy met, 
Let's fling far hence baith spleen an' hate ? 
Doucely submittin' to our fate 

Wi' mirthfu' e'e 5 
Whate'er's our fare, let foul debate 

Be drown't wi' glee, 

It's braw whan fock can be content, 
Wi' what the gods have kindly lent ;-— 



( 128 ) 

They're happy on the moorlan bent 
Wi' simple fare, 

As is the laird wi' a' his rent, 

An' feckfu' skair. 



The Blacksmith to his auld Bellow 's, on 

removing her. 

An' maun we part, my guid auld breukie ? 
Maun ye be twin't o* that lyche neukie, 

Whare ye hae win't sae lang ? 
Laith is my heart to part wi' thee ; 
Och-hon ! fou monie a day wi' glee 

Ye've sough't, an' I hae sang ! 

Yet part we must, derf ruin says, 
For a' the rovin merry days 

We've spent wi' ane anither ; 
The dearest frien's ae day maun sinder, 
The nearest ties the sibbest kinder, 

The son, the wife, an' brither* 

Weel dif I mind yir souple flaps 
Cud sook the win* wi' sudden claps, 

An* blaw a rampin gleed, 
Till roostie aim wad spit an' fizz, 
An' coals upo' the hearth-stane bizz, 

An* lowan vapour dread. 



( I2 9 ) 

monie a mornin wi' the lark, 
Hae I an' you been at the wark, 

An' ay T fand ye willin ; 
An' be the ingle ne'er sae sma% 
Ye chear't it up wi' cannie blaw, 

Sae keen's ye wis o' fullin. 

1 thought I ne'er cou'd wurk aneugh 
Wi' you, ye steed me ay sae teugh, 

An' blew a maikless blouter % 
Fu' monie a pleugh ye've hauden a yird, 
An' gi'en the gaudsman monie a dird, 

At layin sock or cou'ter ! 

Whan I had coup't the reemin cap, 
An' o' yir hurdies gien a clap, 

Said, " Bellows try yir pith j'* 
Fu' fast ye gar't the hammer clink, 
An' bang't the ploughman frae the bink, 

Ye streek't sae lim' an' lith. 

Now ye are crazy, sae am I, 
An' crazy fock hae little gy 

W? youngsters skiegh an' swack \ 
The hoary head, the wrinkled brow, 
In youth's unwary thoughtless view, 

Has monie a flaw an' crack, 

R 



( 13° ) 

Cou'd they a timeous pattern lear 

By you, (while they stand hale an' fier), 

An' catch the maments fast ; 
Let time with unremitting pace 
Arrest their sinews, wan their face, 

They'd pleasing eye the pist. 



On seeing a LADY'S BONNEtfall off. 

When the merchant has goods of a valuable hue, 
He bodes on the buyer to view them ; 

But you, my sweet lady, have thousands of charms, 
And yet 'tis an accident shews them. 



ODE, 

Written in December 1803. 

JBelive the caller days come in, 
An' skytin hailstanes I s the win', 

Upo' our winnocks rattle j 
Lat's clank oursel' ayont the fire, 
An' bang up sonnets o' the lyre, 

An' sing or wather sattle. 
For tho' the hours are dowie now, 

The time will nae doubt come, 



( *# ) 

Whan we will nod a cheerie pow, 
An* wag a cantie thum'. 

Black be his fa', whase meagre face 
Maun shaw his saul a dronnin bass> 

A peevish girnin giump ; 
Baughly dytin ay i' th' mist. 
An* tho' ye'd chear his saul, it's jist 
A whissle for a trump ; 
For whan the spring comes mild an' meek, 

Or hoary winter's grim, 
Nae blythsome hour can add or eik. 
He's i' the self-same trim. 

Then let us line this clay-built cot, 
Wi' what is grantit to our lot, 

Wi' mirth an' Wythe content \ 
Ne'er thinkin how the wardle shoggs, 
But cannie tytin thro' the bogs 

O' life's unwary bent. 
For tho' the Thane may grandly kythe, 

Whan gowd on's harness tingle \ 
Yet ken the Cobler's aft as blythe 

Wi's ailisoa an's lingle. 



R2 



( 132 ) 

r A PiriroRT Epistle to Mr Addinoton *. 

-Now, frien', sin' hurly-burly's owre 
O' Parliament's thick reekin stowre, 
Will ye but tak a single hour 

O leeshins giver ! 
For sic sma' space, nae wit'll sour 

TJpo' yir liver* 

My mither-gab ye'll scantly ken't^ 
Sic lallan's o' 3 codroch dint, 
An* sieth it rs but hameil pen't, 

Like bladd'rin blunks, 
Be as it will, ye'll get a glint 

O' Scottish sunks f , 

Rairin at times wi' empty bag \ 
Sinkin wi' care we aften fag \ 
Strummin about a gill we're lag, 

Syne drowsy hum j 
That by my saul we've scarce a tag 

To hap our bum. 

The race o' chaps now Scotia rears, 
Are far frae like their auld forbears \ 

* Wrote last prorogation of Parliament. 

f Seats built of turf in the country, commonly at the 
gabel of the house, where the business of the day is dis- 
cussed. 



C *33 ) 

Witness for that some fock are liars, 

Or else the fail 
'S a reason great that whisky clears 

Ilk' flaw an' crack. 

Sma cause, said they, had guts to croot ; 
For gantries rair't wi' reemin stout, 
Lang winter nights we than cou'd tout 

It swack an' sicker ; 
Whan now there's naething gilps bit scout 

In ilka bicker. 

"Their aquavits, waefu' trash, 
Douf soukit frae potatoe-smash, 
Clunks warsh amo' our tripes like wash 

In stinkin gutter; 
Infests our kytes wi' muckle fash. 

Like moss-pot watter. 

Right baugh, believe it as ye will, 
Leuks Scotland, taskit like, an' dull, 
Fu' monie a daumert doited scull, 

That erst wis bluff; 
Gangs sleekin roun' the ingle stull, 

An' has nae gluff. 

Hary, gin ye wad grant us maut, 
Right free o' erf on kn3ps to shaw't ; 
Then lat the times be ne'er sae saut, 
We'll a' agree^ 



( *34 ) 

Nir sail we think it's onie faut 
Whatever ye du 

This is the subject o' the theme, 
Request o' leeshins that I claim ; 
To line our lang starvation^ wyme 

Wi' sterlin whisk ; 
Nir lat's gang gizzen, fy for shame, 

Wi' drouthie tusk ! 

Wae worth that tod-like clan excise, 
That jeuk wi* cunnin crafty guise, 
The tae wife's pot they mak their prize, 

The tither's maut, 
Darin, whan whisky^stells they seize, 

To ca't a faut. 

Allowin them to keep their trade, 
Auld Scotland can be right weel fed, 
Gin maut-tax war a wee thing laid, 

An' whisky still 
Cou'd but get leave to wear her head, 

An' wurk at will. 

Geneva trag an' burnin brannie, 
Gang slowly owre wi' Lawlan' Sannie ^ 
But set him down fu' trig an' cannie, 

Wi' dram o' whisky, 
The sweetest dainty's no sae hanny, 

To mak 'im frisky. 



( 135 ) 

Short syne had ye but seen, vow man ! 

At ilk ane's snout a heapit cann, 

An' L — d sic stuff that I shou'd bann ! 

(Yir servan* hum'le), 
Ae glass wis steady if ye can, 

Twa barla-fummil. 

What comes o* a' our kintra plays, 
Our rantin feasts, an* merry days* 
Our rovin pins, an' wanton keys, 

Our careless hours ! 
They're vanish't, as upo' the lees 

The simmer showers. 

Ayont the bink in winter nights, 
Whan sair day's toil was a' at rights, 
To chear the driegh an' dowie wights, 

An' mak them frisky, 
Was't wine, the slock o' feckless pights i 

Na faith, 'twas whisky I 

Whan caller Boreas bangs fu ? sour, 
Wi' rattlin hailstanes skytin show'r, 
An' dozen't sun, wi' erf-like glow'r, 

Teets owre the knowes i 
Guid whisky I wad sey thy pow'r, 

To brace my brows, 

Hail, nappy fraithin on a day ! 
Whan Phoebus glints sae brisk in May. 



. ( |# ) 

Or June whan cockin o' the hay, 

Ye synd the wizzen $ 

To youth an' tott'rin age a stay, 

An* a' that's gizzen. 

Whan carin yarks a body sairly, 
An' gars him start the mornin early, 
Wi' stamack clad sometimes fu' barely, 

O' cauld kail pottage, 
A dram o' whisky chears them fairly, 

In ha' or cottage. 

Ye see yirsel' whan session sits, 

An' kintra lairds, an' buskie cits, 

A* gather roun' some sumphs, some wits, 

Wha lear exert, 
Drouthie fu' aft the gabber spits, 

Wi' scaddit heart. 

Gin they wad pang their gantrys fu' 
O' reemin nap, an' whisky blue, 
Nae glzzen't thrapples then wad glue 

Their gaws thegither i 
An' we wud thrive, an' bat, an' grow 

Amo' our heather. 

Derf be his fa' wha Scotland laiks, 
Curs't be his fate wha 'gainst her claiks, 
Sair dung be he that bisna maiks, 
For Scotland's right -, 



( 137 ) 

Lat deils his worthless kernel vex 
In endless night. 

Then, Addington, exert ye, man, 
Nor thole our countra's dolefu' ban, 
But leeshins her, baith pat an' pan, 

An' tak yir risk ay, 
She'll fecht for you as lang's she can, 

An' Highland whisky. 

Then mith she tune her heart an' sing, 
Till heather* knaps, an' hillocks ring, 
Nae mair awa' w? tears she'd fling 

Her drone an' chanter \ 
Lat frosty mornins snelly sting, 

She'd bang the banter. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

I. 

By this I'm fain to lat ye ken, 
How fuddlin bards air* honest men 
Think muckle o' yir mense; 
An' whare auF Scotland grants her praise. 
She never cad mak muckle f raise, 
But heart an' han's intense ; 
Adown to tug young Chatham's core, 
An 9 tell the downright truth; 
S 



( tS* ) 

Then we may hemp for days o* yore* 
An' ye'U get friends a fouth. 
Be witty, nor skijtty, 

Ay mendi-n fauts an* blunners, 
Sagacious, an* cautious, 

An' ye'll get ayes in hunners. 

II. 

Blest days ! whan honest sauls an' leal,. 
A' join'd to guide the public weal, 

Hearts void of guile an' fraud ; 
Then Britain's yird cud tell a tale, 
A' bent the tide o r wealth to swell, 
While pleasure plenty clad. 
But now pernicious vaunts o' wier 

Involve us near in ruin, 
Whan ilka mother's son maun spier 
Wha had the cause a-doin. 
It maks na, the. fact's na, 

In tift fcr dytit sumphs j 
But yet, man, the wit, man,, 
O' monie a callan grumphs. 

III. 

A doughty squad o' Scotia's race, 
Wi' hearts o' steel, an' brows o' brass? 
Weel trim'd in martial order, 



( 139 ) 

Have bounded forrat to the field, 
An* die they may, but ne'er will yield, 
While Tweeda weets the border. 
Thae lads are soun' o' lith an* lim, 

Sae dinna thwart their aim ; 
Then they may Gallia's braggers trim, 
An' down their haffits kaim ; 
They're maughtless, they're fraughtless, 

Compar'd to our blue bonnets, 
Our few tunes are true tunes, 
An' nae Italian sonnets *. 



LINES, 
Written on a Blank Leaf of Fergussorfs Poems* 

fewEET youthful bard, I view thy lines, 
Whexe ev'ry graceful beauty shines, 

In simple Scottish strain j 
Bards yet to come shall sound thy praise, 
And in thy fame attune their lays, 

The boast of Scotia's plain. 

S2 

* To It'ly's fona French faid mum : 
But shou'd they e'er come here, 
To hear cur bagpipe's warlike hum, 
They'll $— — their breeks wi' fear. 



( Ho ) 

Thy past'ral scenes, where beauty reign?, 

In rural numbers vie ; 
Thy homely muse the rustic tends, - 

An' lifts him up on high. 

We hear the gowdspink's shrill-tun'd note ± 
Nor is th' industrious bee forgot, 

Humming about the thorn ; 
Here fhepherds lolling at their eafe, 
There flow'rs prolific scent the breeze, 

Where pity strays forlorn. 
Then live, sweet bard, for well ye've won 

The brightest laurell'd bust, 
While Scotia, with a pitying moan, 

Bedews thy sacred dust. 



Spoken to a Toung Ladv> about to be married to an 
eld ill-favoured Bachelor. 

jl our will's a law, — yet what's the haste ? 

Your years are few to scool at \ — i 
An emblem of a pigeon you, 
S~tt represents an owlet. 



ELEGY ON SAUTIE *. 

Hear, Scotland braid, owre muir an' dale > 
To Buchan chiefly is my tale, — 
* See page 39.. 



( i4i ) 

Maist feck o' you may weep an' wail, 
An' hing your head ; 

An' grunt, an' graae, an' skriek, an' squile, 
Aul' Sautie's dead ! 

Och-hon ! my win' is nearhan' gane, 
Wi' mony a sob an' dronnin mane, 
Fell death has left nae ane ahin' 

*» Worth mournin weed, 

Compar'd to him that's paid the kain, 
An' now lies dead, 

O death ! thou deadly fae to a 5 man, 

How durst thou out thy whittle draw, man, 

An' pierce aul Onzie's reestir gaumon, 

Wi' sic a speed ? 
Now ilk ane cries, " Black be yir fa', man* 

Aul Sautie's dead." 

Waes me for Buchan, herriet howe ! 
Grave lesson't sage ye ance did stowe ; 
Whan bless'd wi' him, ye thrave, an' grew 3 

An' chew yir queed 3 
But wiliawackits for ye now, 

Aul Sautie's dead ! 

. That day be mourn'd that saw him riggin 
His great conjurin perry wig on \ 
He through the glen gaed canty swiggin* 
As trim's a bead \ 



( H2 ) 

I Death stapit's win' for a' our priggin, 
Wha now lies dead. 

Ye witches, warlocks, fairies, fien's ! 
That squalloch owre the murky greens, 
Daft fungin fiery *p eats, an' stanes, 

Wi' fuzzy gleed 5 
Sing out yir hellish unkfcnt teens, 

Yir en'my's dead ! 

On onie cairn now ye may lig, 
Or dance auld Hornie's fav'rite gig, 
Jlin maukin-like on onie rig, 

Wi' careless speed j 
Sin Sautie's great soothsayin wig, 

An' him lies dead. 

O mourn him a' infestit fock, 
He ever wis yir paul an' rock, 
Frae witches, warlocks, an' sic trock, 

That en'mies dread \ 
Their threats to him war but a mock, 

An' yet he's dead. 

Whan warlocks rant wi' bleezin cowes, 
On Fairie knaps, an' Fairie knowes, 
Wiiile derf auld Brookie's bone-fire lowes, 

Wi' rampin gleed ; 
Wbaffl guard us 7 their haunted howes, 

Sin Sautie's dead ? 



( 143 > 

In kirk-yard drear they may gallant, 
An' mak his turf their fav'rite haunt, 
Without a dread o' him to cant, 

O wicked deed ! 
Like Alloway's mad rairin rant *, 

On Sautie dead ! 

O mourn this loss which we deplore. 
Ye sailors that frequent our shore ; 
Ye fish-carles never lift an oar, 

In codlin greed ; 
But yelp wi' monie a dowie roar, 

For Sautie dead. 

An 5 mourn wi' me, ye tipplin Iouns, 
That tout the C3p wi' cantie roun's, 
For barkless ye may claw yir crowns^ 

Whan ye're misled, 
An* nae redress for siccan oons. 

Sin Sautie's dead. 

In unkent wardle whare he be, 
Be't caller stank^ or scaddin bree, 
Be't dungeon mark, or house o' glee, 

Nae wight can read j 
Seme say he's weel, I sayYs a lie. 

If he be dead. 

* Vide Eurns's Tam o' Shanter- 



( 144 ) 

EPITAPH. 

Anent this bust lies Sautie's dust, 

To tell his fate I swither ; 
But yet, 'tis true, gie him his due, 

Auld N — an' him's thegither. 
Hout, stop, my frierr, an' fling yir een, 

To yon ascendin smeek ; 
Ye'll spy a snout as black as soot : — 

'Tis him as sure's a leek. 

PER CONTRA. 

Our information's blinkk's sairiy, 
That gar't us greet an' girn sae early, 
New-fangleness hath no been sparely, 

Her flight'riiFs givin ; 
Our loss is sax times doubi't. fairly, 

The wretch is livin. 



Epigram on the Death of a NoT£D Lawyer. 

J. hey tell me, Jock, sin' ye're awa', 

Yir fate is yon black vout ; 
Ye wis weel reez't for kittle law, 

Now law auld Nickol out. 
But gin ye lit him kick the ba', 

Or grip yir slee intention, 



C H5 ) 

Ye'll recollect, ye canna ca* 
For week, nir day's suspension. 

HIS ANSWER to the EPIGRAM, 

I bang't on a process right sair to my skaith^ 

The judical Minos sat Preses, 
The jury sat belchin, 2? snug i' their graith, 

I kent they were deils by their faces. 
The sentence was derf, so back I was hurl'd. 

My fate to revoke there's no balsam j 
? Tis death ev'ra day to my auld natal world, 

But I'll own that the law here's mair halesomec 



T GLOSSARY. 



v 



GLOSSARY. 



J. HE preceding Poems may be well enough under- 
stood by a North-Country Reader ; but, for the 
sake ©f those who are unacquainted with the dialect, 
the words are arranged under proper heads, most 
peculiar to it ; and some which differ in meaning, 
(although similar in pronunciation), from the Scath- 
Country Dialect, It is therefore prefumed, after 
consulting this arrangement, the most distant Reader 
will be at no loss to understand the Poetry. 



Abeen, above 
Abeeze, to abuse 
Adie, abbreviation of Adam- 
son 
Ahin% behind 
Aike, to yearn 
Aimers, hot ashes 
Anent, opposite 



Aneugh, enough 

Aren% are not 

Archie, abbreviation of 

Archibald 
Ass-dowie, dull, like an 

ass 
Aition, origin 
Atwiesh, between 5 an 

twieibH) between it 



Itai 

■ 



( H7 ) 



B 

Badder, idle talk, abuse 
Binner, to run precipitate, 

to make a noise 
Bliffert, a storm, a hurri- 
cane 
Blouter, a blast of wind 
Blunk, a dull lifeless per- 
son 
Blyter't, besmeared 
Bob, one of the devil's 

names 
Boyne, a district in Aber- 
deenshire 
Bree, broth, liquid, water 
Brownie-bae, an imagina- 
ry being 
Bojutlm, a burnt rnoor 
Buchan, a district in Aber 

deenshire 
Bum, the breech 
Bunkert, a bunker 
Buskie, mackaronish 



Corfu, thwarting, cross- 
ing 

Creuk, a crook, a corner 

Croot, to croak - 

Crup, to crop 

Cutchack, a small blazing 
fire 



D 

Dauk, dark, murky ; dank- 
est, murkiest 

Derf, strong, unmerciful \ 
derfly, strongly, unmer- 
cifully 

Dird, a fall, a severe stroke 

Douf, dull, lifeles 

Boverak, a river in Banff- 
shire 

Droch, a dwarf 

Drush, dross, refuse, scum 

Dumph, dull, insipid 

Dyte, to w T alk crazily 5 dy~ 
tin, walking crazily 

Dytit, stupid, hebitated- 



Catchie, merry, jocund 
Chackart, a small bird, a 

chatterer 
Chackit, chequered, span- 

§ led . 
Cheekie, full of cunning 

Claik, Billingsgate 

Clypin, falling 

Codroch, uncouth, vulgar 

Corse, to cross, to thwart ; 



Eeses, uses, articles 

Erf, timid 

Eugie, a river in Buchan 

Ev'ra, every 

Exast, did exist 



Fastren's 
Even 



F 

E'en, 



Fasten' 



T 2 



( 148 ) 



Fierd, ford 

Flaff, to blow intermittent- 
ly , j&gffin, blowing in- 
termittently 

Flait, did flit 

Flaught-braid, precipitate 

Flaughtin, flying or run- 
ning quickly 

Fleuk, a flounder 

Flichteriff, unsteady, fickle, 
changeable 

Fliep, a good-for-nothing 
fellow 

Flistin, swelling with an- 
ger 

Flught, hurry, fuss 

Flypin, looking abashedly 

Foy, a convivial drink and 
dance at farewell- taking 

Fudder, an extraordinary 
haste 

Fudd'rin, running or flying 
precipitately 

Fung, to thrust " 7 fung'tn^ 
thrusting 



Gadder, to gather 
Gabjoch, a district in A- 

berdeenshire 
Giggle, brisk, lively 
Girse, grass 
Gilpirr, spurting, jerking, 

as w^ter 
Glamack, a grasp, a hold 
Giant, smiled, looked gay 



Gled, a bird of prey, the 
Goshawk 

Glum, to gloom 

Glumpin, glooming 

Gordlins, young nestlings 

Goup, to stare 

Grun't, ground ■ 

Grun't, grounded 

Gy, scene, show 

Gype, a fool ; gypit, fool- 
ish, gypitness, foolishness 

Gytlin, belonging to the 
fields, rural 



H 

Habber, to grin as a dog • 

to faulter in speech 
Haukit, having a white 

face 
Haumerin, doing any thing 

carelessly 
HeePt, took to heels 
Hief, hoof 
Herse, hoarse 
Hilt, a handle 
Hingle, to loiter - y htnglin, 

loitering 
Hotchie, a general name 

for puddings 
Hyte, to walk crazily 



Intull, into 

Izle, a hot cinder " ' 



( H9 ) 



Jag, fatigue 
Jerk, a stroke 
Jeuk, to stoop ; Jeufon, 
stooping ' 7 jeuiit, stooped 
Jirken, a pocket 
Junnied, hurried, justled 

K 

Knap, a hillock, to strike 
Knappit, lashed, knoited 
Knief, brisk, lively j knief- 
ly, briskly 



Lairin, sinking, or jaded 
with care, &c. 

Laivin, lifting 

Leef, ' the palm of the 
hand 

Leeshins, licence 

Leggit, did run 

Lig, to lie, to fall behind ; 
irggin, lying, falling be- 
hind 

Lowrie, the fox 

M 

Mad-leed, mad strain 
Maik, match, peer - y maik- 
less, matchless 
TMak, a district in Aber- 
deenshire 



Mauken-hag, a witch in 
the likeness of a hare 

Mellie, abbreviation of A- 
melia 

Mith, might 

Mormond, a noted moun- 
tain in Buchan 

'n 

Nain, own 

Near-gawin, xvorldly, ea- 
ger on amassing wealth 
Neuk, a nook, a corner 

O 

Oon, wound 

Onzie, abbreviation of An- 
drew 



Paul, a hold, a leaning- 
place 

Paveein, capering 

Pellat, a sheep's skin with 
the wool 

Pit, put 

Piz, pease 

Plype, a fall 



CL 

Quesck, quey 
Queed. the cud 



C 150 ) 



R 

Rackart, a severe stroke 
Ragglish, rough, boiste- 
rous 
Ree, half-drunk, wild 
Reid, red 
Reed-cap't, having red 

caps 
Reed-mad, distracted 
Reesk, ground full of 
tough-rooted weeds, 
something like rushes 
Reeskie, full of reesk 
Reestit, dried, roosted 
Reeve, bursted 
Reeze or roose, to prarise 5 

reez^t, praised 
Refeeze, to refu3e 
Reuk, a crow, a rook 
Riep, a slovenly-dressed 

Rink, to rattle \ rlnkit> rat- 
tled, rink'm\ rattling 



Sain't, saved 

Saur, taste 

Saw, to sow ) shewe, did 

sow 
Scabble, to scold ; scahlu- 

lin, scolding 
Scaup, the head, the skull 
Sellrif, market-like, apt to 

sell 
Shankin, walking smartly 
Shaums, the legs 



Sheen, shoes 

Sheuk, did shake 

Shull, a shoal 

Shullie, diminutive of shull 

Sfen, soon 

Sieth, truth, a petty oath 

Sittie, sooty 

Skellat, an imaginary spi- 
rit 

Skinks, joints of beef, &c. 

Sklytes, good-for-nothings 

Skyte, a mischance 

Slieth, an awkward fellow, 
an idiot 

Siieth-like, idiot- like, sot- 
tish 

Smick, a shot, a tincture 

Snaw-flaighs, winter birds, 
a genus of Orkney 

Snib, a smart stroke 

Snytin, walking cfazily 

Sookit, drained, sucked 

Spang, a leap 

Spank, to spang or leap 

Spink, the Gold-^nch 

Spraint, to run forward 

Squalloch, to scream 

Squile, to skreech 

Steeking, stitch : ng 

Stottit, staggered, reeled 

Strummin, glooming, look- 
ing sour , 

Strype, z rivulet 

Studdie-stoick, - astonished 

Sumph, a dull fellow, a 
person of mean demean- 
our 



( i5i ) 



Swargh, a convention of 

individuals 
Sweeng, to swing 



Teal, a busy body, a mean 

fellow 
Teem, empty 
Teen, tune 
Teep, a ram 
Tiawe, to amble \ Uw^ did 

tiatue 
Ten an', tenant 
Thackless, without thatch 
Thilse, else 

Thramml't, winded, reeled 
Treeshin, courting 
Turse, to walk 
'Twiesh, between 
Tytin, tottering 

U 

Up-mak, composition 

V 

Vertie, early 
Vout, vault 
Vrack, wreck 
Vrang, wrong 

W 
Wardle, world 



Warsh, inclining to water 
Weeack, a scream 
Wees't, hebitated 
Whilk, which 
Whisk, to sweep j whhkit, 

sweeped 
Wiggie, one of the many 

names of the devil 
Witters, the teeth 
Wizzen, the weasand 
Wizzen't, hyde-hound, 

shrunk 
Wyle, to pick, the choice 
Wyme, the belly 
Wyte, truth, a petty oath j 

blame 
Wyve, to weave 



Yallach, a loud scream 
Yaltie, slowly ; yaltU ! take 

leisure ! scop ! 
Yampher, a dog 
Yark, to yerk, to lash ^ 

yarkitiy yerking 3 yarklt^ 

yerked 
Yeghin, groaning 
Yeel, barren 
Yelp, to roar ; yelpin % roar* 

ing \ yelptt, roared 
Yir, your 
YoufT, to strike 



FINIS. 



SDIKBUUGH; ?M*TgD BY J. PXLLANS & S0N3 } iAWHMARKET* 



m 



CONTENTS. 



Verses on Winter. — Dec. i8co, - i 

On the Dtath of the late Rev. Dr. D****n of 

G****n, - -6 

Elegy on the Death of G**** L*****y, who pe- 
riled in the fnow 1794, ■ - 10 
To Adverfity, - -„ -... - 15 
The Vanity of Human Wifhes, - . - 16 
The Complaint, addrefTed to Mr. J**** Q*****^ 

Will and Tarn, a Paftoral on the Death of Robert 
Burns, 24 

To a Dominie, on hearing from him that he^was 
gone to Sea. — March I o. 1801, - "35 

Addrefs to the Representatives of the People, on 

their being called to Parliament (Nov. 11. i8cq,J 

to try and do fomet.hing anent the dearnefs o' the 

Meal, - - - 38 

To T*** # * R*****, on receiving a fummons (at 

his inftance) before the Juftice-Court at L*****, 43 
From T***** r*****^ j n an fwer to the foregoing, 4.7 
Epigram on the foregoing, - 49 

Lord Malmefbury's Return from Lifle, 50 



§ CONTENTS. 

Page 

Nelfon's Viftory, - - -52 

On the Departure of the Year 1800, - 55 

The Eagle Troop of Berwickfhire, a Song, - 60 

Epigram, - - - 64 

The Plagues o' Riches, - 65 

Robin's Lament for the Death of his favourite Bick 

Whifkey, - - - 72 

To W****** B**** jr***#** m ~g 

To T***** &***** ... 82 

Epiftlc from T***** R*****, . - 86 

The Lovelefs Lafs's Soliloquy, a Song, - 89 
To Mr. W****** M*********, on his Marriage, 

a Song, - - 9 2 

Song, - - 95 

Song, - - - - - 97 

From T***** R*****, - - 99 
To Mr. T***** R*****, in anfwer to the forego- 

ing, - - - - i°2 

To j#**» p*** £********, . ~ 106 

On the Death of Paul the Magnanimous, - 113 

On the Death of General Sir Ralph Abercrombie, 116 



% 



POEMS, 



MOSTLY IN THE 



SCOTTISH DIALECT. 



verses on winter—Dec. iSoo. 

Stern Boreas' biafis do keenly blow ; 

Stript of their foliage Hand the trees ; 
Behold the angry drift and fnow, 

Borne on the cold and chilling breeze. 

The lark no more doth mount on high, 
Her fweet and cheerful notes to raife ; 

No more the eager reapers ply 
Before the mailer's anxious gaze* 

The God of day withholds his beams, 
And now unwillingly fends forth 

A 



[ 2 ] 

His fcanty, intermitting gleams 
On frozen regions of the North. 

The plumy choir now from the blaft 
Seek fhelter 'neath the naked thorn ; 

How much unlike the time that's pall ! 
They joyful ufher'd in each morn. 

Now, tir'd of mufic and of love, 
They all forfake the lonely fpray ; 

Inftindive fome their courfe do move, 
To fweeter climes, and brighter day. 

Poor peafants, too, their labour clofe, 
(Ah me ! their grievous fate I mourn j) 

In their lonexots they feek repofe, 

Which almoft bend beneath the ftorm. 

Sad fons of forrow ! born to languifli 
Beneath Misfortune's dreary fhade ; 

Ye great ! behold their cup of anguifli ; 
Xook on their hard-earn'd bitter bread. 

When fparkling wine jour minds doth cheer, 
And when you fhare the rich repaft, 

Commiferate their fate, who bear 
For you the burden and the blaft. 



[ 3 1 

They who in opulence carol, 

Feel little of rude Winter's reign, 

While laughing o'er the flowing bowl, 
All Famine's threats to them are vain, 

Yet thoufands are compell'd to ply, 
To weather out the Winter's blaft, * 

Yon ftarting tear in s eye 

Befpeaks a mind with woe o'ercaft. 

Yet why this gloom ? — this drooping down ? 

Though Froft and Famine, hand in hand, 
Announcing Heaven's vengeful frown, 

Do threaten Scotia's guilty land ? 

Let mankind but to mankind prove 
More friendly, and to others fhow 

Affectionate and unfeign'd love, 

'Twould-fmooth the wrinkl'd brow of woe. 

As fawning zephyrs liquify 

The froft-congealed lakes and ilreams,^ 
Juft fo the minds which frozen lie, 

Are melted by Love's cheering gleamsu 

As fad and filent, flruck with fear, 
The Poet fat, to grief refign'd, 

Aij 



I 4 ] 

And while down Hole the trickling tear, 
Thefe thoughts flow wander' d o'er his mind : 

" J Tis virtue that can only charm, 
In Winter's hard and gloomy hour, 

The rigour of the blaft difarm, 

And calmly fmile beneath its pow'r. 

u Sweet Mufic yet may wake the wood, 
And rapture may her firings employ ; 

The laughing vales may fing aloud, 
The hills may clap their hands for joy. 

" Let Virtue then ward off the blaft ; 

Returning Spring our minds may cheer; 
The Winter will not always laft, 

So let us mark the rolling year. 

" The furrow'd brow of Age draws on, 
And Winter foon fhall feize on Man, 

When nought this earthly ftage upon, 
Ncr Love nor Mufic pleafe him can. 

" Let trifling mortals then beware, 
Nor vainly fquander time away ; 

A youth well fpent will eafe their care, 
When eyes are dim, and hairs are grey. 



[ 5 J 

<; For all muft, at no diftant date, 

Mix with the duft from whence they came; 
The Bard — no friend to mourn his fate, 
ilone to record his name," 



A 11! 



r 6 ] 



ON THE 

DEATH OF THE LATE REV. MR. D****N 

OF G****N. 



Well knew the poor his houfe, for from his doqr 
None e'er return'd but blefs'd his bounteous ftore : 
Their fad complaints he heard ; Ugh'd when they grievM, 
And fcarce he heard them till his hand reliev'd. 
Belov'd he liv'd ; but nought exempts from death* 

WILSON* 



Great men of art, tho' fkilPd in vaft defign, 
Can't for an hour protract precarious breath, 

Nor the fweet followers of the tuneful Nine 
Soothe with their melody infatiate Death. 

Yea, kings may (hut their palace* mafly gate, 
And plant their arm'd thoufands round 
and round, 
Yet ev'n there th' unerring hand of Fate 
Can ftrike her deftin'd vi&ims to the 
ground, 



[ 7 ] 

Man's life, in this vain tranfitory vale, 
Like fhort-liv'd taper, fheds its feeble ray ; 

Awhile it fhines— 'tis gone--" 'tis as a tale,"— 
Like morning's mift it vaniflieth away. 

This D****q taught, ev'n near his late ft 
breath, 

Yet, ah! how little did the preacher know 
That he fo foon mufl pafs the vale of death, 

To fhare the fruit of all his works below. 

Can ye who heard him make his laft difplay, 
And tell how fwift the gliding moments fly, 

Allow to reach its goal one palling day, 
'Thout faying, € \ ere to-morrow I may die?" 

When he announc'd this ferious truth to you. 
How near himfelf had he his circuit run ! 

So near, indeed, he figh'd his laft adieu, 
Near with the fetting of that fame day's 
fun, 

Ye widow'd objects of his paftoral care ! 

Ye poor whofe mis'ries he did oft allay I 
You furely can't withhold a grateful tear 

For him who Heav'n-ward led you on 
your way. 



[ 8 ] 

You can't — I faw it rolling fill your eyes, 
WhenM****y told the fad funereal tale ; 

Ev'n he declar'd he met with no furprife, 
To fee you with fucfr feeling hearts be- 
wail 

What folemn filence hung ppan the mind, 
To hear him in pathetic accents tell, 

How he was juft, benevolent, and kind — 
And by how hard a fate the Chriftian 
fell. 

Gold now his heart, which heav'd the feeling 

Thofe lips on which perfuafive language 
hung, 
Now in the gloomy noifome grave do lie — 
Qnearthftisnameuhblafted by foul tongue. 

Ah ! fled for ever from this fcene of woe : 
(What piety ! what learning ! and what 
zeal !) 
He who th- Sacred Truth to men did {how, 
That ev'n the hardcft atheiffs heart might 
feel 



[ 9 3 

" Here lies the man !" the poor man well 
may fay, 
" Who many of my fufferings reliev'd — 
" Who fiird my mouth — who taught me 
11 how to pray — 
" Reprov'd my faults — and at my errors 
« griev'd." 

For mourning all his flock have ample fcope, 
Yet grief reprefs— for though the green- 
grafs fod 

His body covers, you may reft in hope 
His better part's united to his God. 

Then ceafe thofe tears ; — why thus inceflant 
flow ? 
Be ftill thofe murmurs : — to the bleeding 
heart 
His peaceful fhade foft wbifpers, " Wait 
" the blow, 
11 We foon fhall meet again ne'er more to 
" part." 

And can the world's empty treafures bring 
Such joy to death-divided friends as this ? 

That foon they fhall be with the Lord their 
King, 
And reign together in the realms of blifs. 



[ io ] 

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF G**** L*****Y, 
Who perijhed in the Snow, 1794. 



A' ye wha bafk in Fortune's blink, 
Or toil in gatherin' in the clink, 
To raft or rot i' kift-or bink, 

I pray tak' head ; 
A Billie's gi'en ye a' a jink, 

Auld L*****'s dead. 

An' monie a ane is made to wonder 

How G****** e'er to death ftrack under ; 

'Twas 'gainft his will nae doubt, but lounder 

Owre his grey head 
Came Fate's lang rung, whilk made him 
founder, 

Aye fell'd him dead/ 

Although he was nae man o' wier, 
He had the nack o' gath'iin' gear, 
Yet he ne'er liv'd on coftly cheer ; 

Bare brofe an' bread 



[ II ] 

Hae flapp'd his mou for mony a year, 
But now he's dead. 

That dolefu' day, in whilk the lift 
Sent down fie fhow'rs o' fnaw an' drift, 
To fmuir his fheep — he was fae glift, 

He ran wi' fpeed 
To fave their lives — ah ! dreadfu' fhift, 

It was his dead. 

He howk'd an' toil'd the hale day o'er, 
Hogs, ewes, and gimmers, monie a fcore, 
Frae 'neath the wreaths — while drift, like 
ftoure, 

Flew round his head. 
He's weather' d out monie a winter's fhow'r, 

But now he's dead. 

O ! wae be to yon filthy cleugh, 
That lang-ken'd curfed Corbie-Heugh, 
Whare wind and ftorm, wi' angry fugh, 

An' bitter fpeed, 
Hae mony a hunder fheep laid leugh, 

Cauld, ftifF, and dead* 

*Twas there that day that G****** met 
Wi' unco lofs — himfel forfett — 



[ 12 ] 

Yet gin the gloamin' aff he fet, 

Hame owre wi' fpeed ; 
But, waefu' night ! Fll ne'er forget— 

It was his dead. 

The bluft'rin' winds did rife fae high, 
Attendit wi' thick drift — forby 
Some fearfu' afpedts i' the Iky, 

Bright flafhin' gleed ; 
Poor G****** i' the fields did lie, 

Whilk was his dead. 

Now rich an' poor, an' a' may mourn, 
An' drap a tear owre G******'s urn, 
Since he nae mair will here fojourn ; 

For aft in need 
He did fouk mony a generous turn, 

Though now he's dead. 

In frolics little gear he fpent, 

Yet if a chiel was pinch'd wi's rent, 

An' ofFer'd G****** fax per cent. 

'Thout fear or dread 
He onie fum wad freely lent ; 

But now he's dead. 



[ 13 3 

Tho' whiles by fiends an' witches chas'd, 
His ain dead Tittie's glowrin' ghaift, 
The de'il himfel' he's fometimes fac'd, 

An' wagg'd his head, 
An' fent him affto H — in hafte, 

But now he's dead. 

To pride he ne'er had great defire, 

Contentit ay in hame attire, 

An' cou'd hae liv'd e'en in a byre, 

Had there been need, 
Tho' richer far than fome look'd higher, 

But now he's dead. 

'Tis faid he lately did incline 
To tafte the Hymeneal vine, 
Tho' he a nymph cou'd never fin' 

Wha w r ifh'd him fpeed* 
Yet he has left fome to repine 

Now that he's dead. 

But tho' he's gane an' left us a', 

He had a name without a flaw, 

He ne'er was ken'd to haud or draw, 

Wi' thievifh greed ; 
An's mouldy gowd gars fome gang bra' 

Whan he is dead. 

B 



C 14 ] 

For, carefu' chiel ! he grew fae fond o't, 
That in a Haly Book he bound it ; 
But now, waes me ! his heirs hae found it 
An' gi'en't a fcreed : — 
If G****** kent how they expound it ; — 
But— G******'s dead. 



C 15 ] 



TO ADVERSITY. 



'When to my cot, corrective Fair, 
High Heav'n thy hand doth fend, 

Let not my foul fink in defpair, 
But with fubmiffion bend. 

Though woe fucceed to woe, I'll truft 

The faithfulnefs of God ; 
What he decrees is right and juft, 

Then let me kifs the rod. 

He who can beft my faults perceive, 

Is fitteft to chaftife ; 
And why fhould mortals ever grieve, 

For he is great and wife. 

Then till life's latelt fand is run, 
O teach me, Pow 7 'r Divine ! 

To fay, " My God, thy will be done, 
" Difpofe of me and mine." 

B ii 



[ 16 ] 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



"Were my Vain wifh to crown my choice, 
The place would be, in which I'd dwell, 

Beyond the reach of public noife, 
In fome fequefter'd lonely cell. 

In fuch a place, my life Fd fpend 
In contemplation night and day, 

I could enjoy my book and friend 
Better in this than any way. 

Had Heav'n decreed this for my lot, 
I'd afk'd no ftately pompous dome ; 

But cheerful in my turf-clad cot, 
I could have boafted of my home. 

I'd then beheld the plants and flow'rs 
In all their native beauty drefs'd, 

And could have fpent my peaceful hours 
Like one who was completely blefs'd, 



[ i7 3 

But, ah ! vain wifh ; doth God beftow 
Such bleffingsy^/? to pleafe mankind? — 

Then with content I'll wander through 
The path of woe for me defign'd. 

Henceforth I'll upward caft mine eyes ; 

When grace and ftrength to me are giv'n 3 
I'll feek true blifs beyond the Ikies, 

The only fare and lading Heav'n. 



3 HI 



[ i8 1 



THE COMPLAINT: 



ADDRESSED TO 



MR. J**** q*##« ]?**### g*##*###***# a 



When fmiling fortune fpreads her golden ray, 
All crowd around to flatter and obey ; 
But when (he thunders from an angry iky, 
Our friends, our flatterers, and lovers fly. 

Mifs A. W 



This evening I the freedom take 

To write, auldfrien\ to you; 
I'm forry, lad, that for my fake 

Ye e'er (hould prov'd untrue. 
Ye ance were kind ; — but yet whatreck, 

Now whan Fm forc'd to bow 
Beneath Misfortune's ponderous ftraik, 

I'm lookit on by you 

Afklent this day, 



L 19 ] 

This ficker truth I own — I ne'er 

Cou'd merit your attention, 
My lot bein' in a laigher fphere 

Than your's ; — a poor prevention. 
Yet, trowth ! I think 'tis unco queer, 

An' wordy reprehenfion, 
Our correfpondenee, ance fae dear, 

Has been upo' declenfion 

This monie a day. 

O curfe upo' that waefu' day 

Misfortune op'd her jaws, 
An' foufe upon me like a prey 

She perch'd wi' fharpen'd claws ; 
For now my friends are turn'd away, 

(O'er weel I ken the caufe), 
An' fome right tauntin'ly do fay, 

" He weel deferves the taws 

" To's back this day, ?? 

Hypocrify does clap my crown 
Whan face to face fhe fees me, 

But 'hint my back fhe rins me down 
And curfedly does teaze me. 

There's fome I am in conference boun' 
To fay hae pow'r to fqueeze me, 



[ 20 ] 

But a real frier? will ne'er difcwn, 
Although he canna eafe me 

O' grief this day. 

E'en nionie a ane, wha fude na fafn 

Wi' me or mine at ay 
Againft me loofe their foul- mouth' d clafh 

'Caufe my back's at the wa' ; 
They're but a fet o' meddlin' trafh, 

Though now fae croufe they craw ; 
Yet owre their credit and their cafh 

They'll aiblins get a fa' 

Like me fome day. 

? Gainft you I dinna mean to throw 

Out onie four reflection, 
Nor do I fay you're turn'd my foe, 

Becaufe of my dejedion ; 
Tor fure, gif I cou'd mak' a (how, 

An' powther for ele&ion, 
Though ye had faxty miles to go, 

Ye wad hae fma' objedion 

To vote that day. 

O, happy ! three times happy they 
Wha walk in Virtue's road, 



[ 21 ] 

An' never never gang aftray, 

Nor (tumble owre a clod, 
But upright ay in heart an' way, 

Do never feel the load 
O' vile reproach, I'm doom'd to hae 

Pour'd on me like a flood 

This luckiefs. day. 

An' naething left now to protedt 

Me frae fie wicked thrall, 
Ev'n worthy S***********'s kind refpect 

I've forfeited withal ; 
My friend, my patron, will negle'dt 

His foririer kindnefs all ; 
There flicks a thorn which fore does prick 

My agonizing faul 

Wi' pain this day. 

It grieves me fair, baith ear' an' late, 

To think that ever I 
Shou'd have caus'd lie a fell debate^ 

An' rais'd fie hue and cry ; 
But for myfel' to vindicate 

Is w T hat I need na try, 
For that wad only break my pate, 

I might in limbo lie 

For't monie a day. 



[ 22 ] 

May Fortune fmile on you, auld friend, 

May rowth o' blifs befa' ye, 
Let me be hauntit by a fiend 

Gif I mean to mifca' ye : 
Ye ance was friendly an' fu' kind, 

That's a' I wifh'd to fhaw ye, . 
For fegs ! I wad na hae it meant 

That I'm difpos'd to blaw ye 

O'er heigh this day. 

True, ye hae fervants at your ca^ 

Can flatter an' can fyke, 
But that's nae merit J**** at a', 

Great cuifs hae had the like : 
An' fude ye ever chance to fa', 

An' forc'd to ditch or dike, 
To you nae mair refpeft they'll fhaw, 

Than I do to my tyke, 

I trow that day. 

For mark mankind, an' ye will fee 
This truth will always ftand, 

That when a man needs nae fupplie 
Ilk ane hauds out his hand ; 

Bat if his matters gang aglee, 
An' he their help demand, 



[ *3 ] 

They pafs, or tofs their heads fae hie, 
They dinna underftand 

His cafe that day, 

What though a chiel fude drive a cart, 

Or handle fpade an* fhool, 
An' never lear' nae fickle art, 

Or ufe nae kittle tool, 
Yet if there's wifdom in his heart, 
* He Hill may ad by rule, 
Although 'tis faid, " 'Tis Wifdom's part 
" Sometimes to play the fool ;" 

Sae what'll ye fay? 

But now as I thir lines maun clofe, 

I hope ye'il no neglect 
Some funny fubjecl to compofe 

As Clio may direct ; 
An' be it owther verfe or profe, 

Or great or little feck, 
May ne'er a fnuff approach my nofe 

If it meet na refpecl 

Frae me that day, 



C 24 ] 



WILL AND TAM: 

A PASTORAL 

ON THE 

DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS. 



Who can grieve too much ? — what time can end 
Our mourning for fo dear a friend ? 



Twas ae day, wearin' yont the afternoon, 
In that fweet month fucceeds the month o 9 

June ; 
A blythefome day it was as blythe cou'd be, 
A' Nature's beauties gratified the e'e ; 
The fields were blooming fweet the burdies 

fang; 
The cheerfu' fhepherds pip'd ; the echoes 

rung : 
The pow'r o' Mufic feem'd ilk thing to cheer, 
Ane might maift fay the rocks were fore'd 

to hear. 



[ 25 3 

Ev'n Phoebus loiter'd, happy as the lave, 
Nor feem'd in hafte to plunge aneath the 

wave, 
Whan Will clapp'd down ayont the weel- 

built cairn, 
His favourite feat fin' he was juft a bairn. 
Some fangs he'd barrow'd frae his neebour 

Tammas, 
Whilk he had hecht to gie him back by 

Lammas ; 
To croon them over was the ftirrah's care, 
'Till a' his flock had dandert wha kens 

where. - r 

He pouch'd his treafure — clam the neebour- 

in' height, 
Difpach'd his tyke, wha foon put a' things 

right. 
But while he glow r r'd around him frae the 

knowe, 
Wha faw he but his cronie i' the howe, 
In plaintive pofiure, makin' fie a mane 
As might hae rent the heart o' a whunftane; 
He ferlied muckle what cou'd ail the chiel, 
Wha look'd as doufe as gif he'd feen the 

de'il 



[ 26 ] 

He totter' d down to fee what was the matter, 
An' thus, wi' a forc'd fmile, began the clat- 
ter :— 

Will. 

Gtrid e'en t'ye, Tam— Lofli ! man what males 

ye fae ? 
I never faw ye wear a look fae wae ; 
Your merry countenance, whilk wont to 

cheer 
A dowie faul, haff flrikes my mind wi' fear. 
Impart the caufe — hafte,TAMMAS, gie relief, 
IVe fhar'd your joy, I'll alfo fhare your grief; 
Has ony o' your fheep misfortune met ? 
Or has the wylie tod upo' them fet ? 
Say — has your dawtit lamb, ye fae refpeel, 
Been worried, or has't fa'n an' broke its neck? 
Or has your dainty Meg this hinder night 
Turn'd dorty t' ye an' Ihoar'd ye wi' the 

flight ? 
Has fome wanchancie fit gaen crofs afore ye ? 
Or what the muckle forro' has come o'er ye? 

TAM. 

Wharefore I'm fad ye'll but o'er foon hear 
tell, 
An' tent me, Willie, ye will mourn yourfel. 



[ 2 7 ] 

Thinkna I care for onie laffie's fcorn ; 
An' lofs o' warld's gear were eithly borne ; 
Although my bonny lamb, o' whilk ye tell, 
Had worried been, or yet had tint itfel' ; 
Tho' it to me this raornin' had been tauld 
My twa guid kye lay elfshot i' the fauld ; 
Tho' I o' a my kirfel were bereft, 
An' no ae clute to tread the heather left ; 
Tho' Pegg' had flightit me an' ta'en anither j 
Aye — tho' thae ills had happen'd a' thegi- 

ther, 
They might be borne, tho' they a wee wad 

ding, 
Yet foon I might cheer up my heart an' ling, 
But now I'll ling nae mair, great, great's the 

Ikaith, 
Can greater be to me than Burns's death ? 

WILL, 

Than Burns's death ! — his death ! — Is Ro- 
bin dead? 
O, Tammas, Tammas, that is news indeed ! 
'Mang a' our canty chiels he was the chief, 
I canna wyte my neebor for his grief; 
Great are the forrows fame are doom'd to dree, 
But what a lade is this on you an' me ! 



[ 28 ] 

This towmont we in mournin' weeds may 

gang, 
For never mair we'll hear a guid Scots fang. 
Ah, welladay ! but my poor heart be fad, 
To hear the lofs o' lie a blythfome lad. 
Our fangfters, even'd to him, are poor dull 

fnGols, 
A fet o' peeviCh felf-conceited fools, 
Wha think that nane hae ony wit or know- 
ledge, 
Unlefs it be dung in them at a College : 
They cock their nofe fae heigh, an' mak' fie 

clamour 
'Bout Logic, an' the kittle rules o' grammar. 
How paughtily ye'll hear the billies fpeak 
In quPs an' quod's — or fometimes French or 

Greek, 
Whilk crams their fang fae fou o' odd-like 

phrafes, 
Their ftyle to me as dark as ony maze is ; 
But Rob, whafe marrow ne'er amang us fung, 
Ay prided in our ain guid mother tongue. 

TAM. 

Sin' auld Gawn Douglas in his haly gown, 
An' Jamie, wha did brawly bruik the crown, 



[ 2 9 ] 

There has been monie a chiel o' muckle girt) 
'Mang whom was Sandie Rofs o'er at Langlee, 
An' JVitl Dunbar, an' Ram/ay, glib an' keen, 
Aye, and the winfome bard o' Hawthornden, 
An' young Rob Fergujfon, a deathlefs name, 
An' monie mae o' meikle worth an' fame ; 
Fu' fweet the callans chauntit i' their turns; 
Yet they hae a' been far outfung by Burns ; 
An' fome o' them e'en too were book-tear 9 d 

bangfters, 
But Robie was juft ane o' Nature's fangfters. 
Lang lang for him may Scotland mak' her 

mane, 
I fear fhe'll never fee his like again; 
Forme (wha faft am totterin' down the brae,) 
I'll never get the better o' my wae, 
Bat linger out my days in grief an' care, 
Since cantie Robin plays, nor lings nae main 

WILL, 

He was fae droll, had ane been e'er fae 

fnure, 
He wad hae gart him laugh in haffan-hour. 
He'd mak' twa dougs, wham chance had- 

thrawn thegither, 
Or ev'ntwabriggs, converfe wi* ane anither, 



[ 3° ] 

An* tell their tales wi' as guid fenfe an' glee 
As fome auld carles, Tarn, like you an' me. 
I mind as weel as if't had been yeftreen, 
How fweet he fang the freaks o' Hallow- 
e'en; 
An' if at times he thought the puir opprefs'd,, 
Sair fair it griev'd his fympathetic breaft ; 
But rich or puir, he gae them a' their turn ; 
Ye mind the fang, how " man was made to 

" mourn" 
Ev'n- whan himfel' he happen'd to fa' wrang, 
Fegs Robin chofe the fubjecl for a fang. 
But now he's gane ! the bonny bard o' Ayr, 
Sic Mufic, Tarn, will cheer our lugs nae mair. 

TAM. 

Wi' him I monie a happy day hae fpent,- 
An' aften liiten'd leanin' on my kent ; 
I was fae pleas'd to hear the chiel relate 
Some funny tale, o' whilk he had fie gate, 
He tauld ay freely what came i' his head, 
As't ftruck his fancy fae he tan'd his reed ; 
Tho' 'twere 'bout priejls, or dodlors, wars wi' 

death, 
He fpake his mind, nor dreaded onie fkaith; 
Aye he was fie undaundt kmd o' chiel, 
He'd fometimes crackit to the verra de'il- 



[ 3i ] 

Til ne'er forget that tale — lie fad mifhan- 

ter, 
Ae waefu' night, befei puir Ham o y Shanter. 
Nae farther gane than juft laft New Year's 

night, 
I never i' my life gat fie a fright, 
In ftappin' waft to Andrew's; — bread an 9 

cheefe 
To a' the neebors roun' that night he gi'es ; 
A Show-burn blaz'd, an' a' aroun' was mirk, 
Strange thoughts ran i' my head o' AU'way 

Kirk ; 
Some gyferts pafs'd the neuk o' Davie's 

park, 
I mindit Nanny wi' her cuttie fark ; 
Sinfyne Ifcarce dare travel whan 'tis dark. 
But monie a merry tale Rob fang befide, 
Whilk fili'd wi' laughter aft our ingle fide, 
'Soon's he came in — I trow we quat our 

ftockin', 
The houfe pang'd fow, an' fyne we'd had fie 

yokiu' ; 
It cheer'd ane's verra faul to hear him fing; 
His wit fee gleg gart a' the clachan ring. 
Auld Scotlan' Ian in wavin* crape may 

gang, 
Nae mair her poet cheers her wi' a fang, 



[ 32 ] 

WILL. 

That burn ye fee, whilk faftly tows alang. 
An 5 joyfu' flows the flow'ry fvvairds amang, 
Our larnmies, fee ! how cheerfully they play, 
While Robin fang we cheerfu' were as they. 
How pleafant ance our fport ! O happy time 
Whan Love an' Muiic baith were i' their 

prime : 
But, ah I we needna fay what we hae feen, 
Nae mair we will be joyfu' on the green j 
The mither may forget her fucking bairn 
Whilk fhe fae fondly dandies on her arm ; 
E'en Jamie may forget yon rofy queen 
He took but to his bridal bed yeftreen ; 
But lang's this warld on its axis turns, 
Wi' pride ilk Scot fhall hear the name o* 
Burns. 

Tam. 
As lang as I can totter owre a kent, 
As lang's I can hound Yarrow o'er the bent, 
As lang's I can relate the tender tale, 
As lang's the brittle thread o' life is hale, 
As lang's my bluid is warmer than a ftane, 
As lang I'll mind the blythfome lad that's 
gane; 



' [ 33. 3 

How fweet he fang — ah ! fie bewitchin' air , 
But now, wae's me ! — he'll fing nor play nae 
mair. 

Will. 

Alake, d 3 ye hear what fad and mournfu' 
founds, 

While Scotlan's verra northmoft neuk re- 
founds ! — 

Hear ! hear ! yon fhepherd on yon diftant 
hill, 

Whafe pityin' pipe is foundin' loud and 
flirill ; 

An' monie mae, whafe dolefu' plaintive 
ftrains 

Wi' melancholy mufic fill the plains ; 

See ! even the owy race forget their play ; 

A' Nature glooms, an' looksna half fae gay 

As we hae ken; but, ah ! what fairs this" 
plaint, 

It will be lang afore our grief will ftent 

For years to come I trow it will get vent. 



his - } 



Tam. 

Aye, Willie, that is owre true ye hae faid, 
But I maun now draw to my kent an' plaid, 



[ 34 ] 

The fun is drawin' waftlins out o' fight, 
An' ilka thing befpeaks approachin' night ; 
Ere I get yont the hill, I hae a thought, 
The lafles will be waitin' at the bught. 
If we be fpar'd (as troth we eanna fay), 
We'll meet again, dear frien', fome ither day, 
But waes my heart 'twill be but to deplore. 
The lofs we thole we never can reftore ; 
Nae cheerfu' bard to drown our bitter care— . 
Na, Robin Burns will never whittle mair. 



[ 35 1 

TO A DOMINIE, 

On hearing from him that he was gone to Sea. 
March 17. 1801. 



What de'iPs come o'er the Dominie now ? 
Sure's death I fcarce can think it true, 
That a bit A B broad, like you, 

Shou'd tak a notion 
The wide Nereian fields to plow 

An' brave the ocean. 

What curfed demon hatch'd the fcheme ? 
Say did ye o' the trade think fhame ? 
Or third ye after naval fame ? 

Why, tent me Johnnie ? 
Ill bairns are ay beft heard at hame, 

Gif they hae ony* 

Though heez'd fae hie — dinna look down 

On your auld cronie , 

Or ony o' the coat aroun*, 

Though e'er fae flupit ; 



E 3<5 3 

Look to the rock whence ye was hewn, 

^The pit whence howkit. 

Gif Monfieur's durk fhou'd gi'e a fneg, 
Or aughteen punder, wi' a fleg, 
Shou'd gi'e a knappit arm or leg, 

Or fplintert jaws, 
Ye'll aiblins (better yet than beg) 

Refume the tawfe. 

O' Fate's dark beuk I hae nae fkill, 

Nor do I mean to bode ye ill, 

De'il tak' the chiel your bluid wad fpill ; 

May Pluto's fork 
Sufpend his impious limbs i' 

Like hams o' pork. 

Smooth be the furface o' the deep, 
Sweet i' the hammock be your jleep ; 
May Nereids dance aroun' the (hip 

To hear your fiddle, 
An' jealous Triton diftance keep, 

Nor dare to meddle. 

Juft ae thing mair I'd beg to fay, 
(Keep mind o't when ye're far away), 
Mind ay your duty twice a-day, 

At morn an' e'en, 



[ 37 J • 

'Twill mak', whan bullets round ye play, 
The mind ferene. 

An' then — life's weary voyage o'er, 
Your bark will regions new explore, 
Where winds ne'er howl, nor tempefts roar, 

Nor fears perplex, 
An' waft ye to the happy fhore 

Ayont the Styx. 



D 



E H« j 



ADDRESS 



tHE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE PEOPLE, 



On their being called to Parliament (Nov. n. 1800.) to try and 
do fomething anent the Dearnefs 0' the Meal. 



Sirs, 

Wi' your leaves, a word or twa\ 
Frae ane whafe knowledge is but fina' 
'Bout ftate affairs — nor wha can blaw 

'Bout gowd or riches; 
But cauld an' wat ay toils awa 

'Mang dykes an' ditches. 

Fair fa' yon chiels i' Lunnin town 
Wha fent their pray'rs up to the Crown, 
An' gart the proclamation roun' 

Be quickly fent, 
To houfe ye (fquannert up an' down) 

In Parliament. 



C 39 3 

Now, whan ye meet, Godfake ! beware 

O' hanlin' flightly this affair; 

Stan' bauldly up — an' face the chair, 

An* wag your head ; 
An' tell how Britons are fae bare 

O' brofe an' bread. 

Some o' you weel can reprefent it* 
Sae tell it plain, an' gar them tent it ; 
Make Willie wi' our cafe acquaint!^ 

An' be nae flack ; 
Ye'll hae nae caufe for to repent it 

Whan ye come back, 

Tell how we're toiling air an' late 
The fcanty bannocks for to get ; 
Yet aftentimes there's no ae bit 

In monie a houfe, 
Whilk gars a birkie look as blate 

As a church moufe. 

Mind labourin' fo'k are fair oppreiVd,. 
And Famine, that confoundit pell:, 
Is fhoarin fair for to moleft 

Us, ilka man ; 
Hafte,.get our grievances redrefs'd 

As fail's ye can= 



[ 40 ] 

The want o' bread's a ferious thing, 
An' hunger has a devilifh fting, 
'Twad pierce the heart ev'n o' a King ; 

Gif G e but kend it, 

I'll lay my lugs fome plan he'd bring 

About to mend it. 

See what our fituations are, 

Things double, triple, faith ! o 9 par :— ■ 

Some lay the wyte u.pi> the war, 

Some on the feafon ; 
Guid fegs, they needna gang fae far 

To fin* the reafon. 

Your Honours, therefore, we expeft, 
By nae means will our caufe neglect ; 
Then let us fee ye hae refpeft 

For wretched creatures ; 
An' grip thae rafcals by the neck 

They ca* regraters. 

Soufe ilka mon'polizir/ chiel, 

The Berwick rner charts cowe them weel, 

'Tis they wha play the verra deil 

'Bout a' this place ; 
They buy up a' our corn an' meal 

Afore our face. 



[ 4i ] 

An' roonie o' our farmer cuifs 

Hae barns maift ftappit to the roofs, 

But never meetin' your reproofs, 

They tak' nae heed : 
While puir fouk may gae lick their luifs 

For want o' bread. 

O could your wifdom but invent 
Some kittle fcheaie to raife their rent, 
They o' this trade wad foon repent, 

And, in a trice, 
Our corn an' meal baith, Ffe indent, 

Wad fa' in price. 

Gar vile retailers, too, ilrike under, 
They pick the pouch o' monie a hunder; 
O ! ftrike them wi terrific wonder. 

May your kind acts 
Be like a twa-an'-forty punder 

Upo' their backs,. 

Ye little ken what puir fo'k dree ; 
But wad ye come yourfels an' fee, 
An' fpen' a month or twa' wi me, 

In hamel deeding 
See how your ftamachs wad agree 

Wi' kintra feedin 5 , 
d iij 



[ 42 1 

But firft an> foremoft hafte to Lunnin, 
An' r a' your art an 1 cunnin% 

To bring relief, an'be nae funnin' 

On this occafion ; 
The gratefu' thanks ye'il thus be winnin* 

O' ha>£ the Nation, 



[ 43 J 



TO T****** R*#### 



Receiving a Summons (at his inftancej before the J'ti/lke- 
Court at L*****. 



Sir, 

Ae day as I at work did ply, 
A gruefome camfheugh carle came t?y, 
Wha gently pap'd me on the cheek, 
Sayin', " Frien' wi' you Fd wiftx to fpeak : f * 
Hingin* my lugs I ftapp'd afide, 
Th* important bufinefs for to hide, 
But, fegs ! I trow I gat my nacket — 
He gae me your unwelcome packet, 
In whilk ye charge me to appear 
An' anfwer for my want o* gear. — 
I own your libel's partly true, 
I'm aw'n fome filler fure to you j 



[ 44 ] 

An' for to gie't I'm nae unwillin', 

But at this time I've no ae fhillin', 

Whilk mak's me e'en baith dowf an' dorty. 

As ye demand fome mair than forty ! 

But what way cou-d ye ever fay 

That I refus'd my debt to pay, 

Ufiiefs by law I was compeli'd ? 

A fawfer tale was never teli'd. 

To pay you, Sir, I ne'er refus'd ; - 

Your goodnefs fudena be abus'd ; 

For, in my need, ye gae me credit, 

An* at that time I was right glad o't : 

It faird me muckle in my need ; 

Since — a' my filler's gane for bread ; 

Whilk has been fae confoundit dear 

'S pinched monie ane like me this year :. 

An' truft me, Tarn, as I'm a finner, 

I've had but monie a barefoot dinner; 

I own 'tis true ye needa care for 

Whether I live — what way — or wherefore ; 

Ye'll fay ye feek but what's your due ; 

Weel, Tammas, that is verra true, 

An' what's your due you fure fal have 

(I'm toilin for't juft like a Have), 

If ye'li but mitigate your anger, 

An' gie me time a wee while langer; 



[ 45 1 

An' if ye are nae pleas'd wi* that, 
Gae 'rreft my wages wi' J*** W*tt ; 
Gae down to Kelfo, there ye'll find him 
Near the crofs-keys, a wee behind 'em. 
But 'fore the court I needna come, 
(As like a fhee<p I might ftan' dumb) ; 
I canna fwear I am nae aw 7 'n ye, 
Ye ken that wadna be fae canny ; 
It only wad increafe expence, 
As I can offer nae defence ; 
Nor will I e'er fraud up my face 
For to contend wi'ye in this cafe : 
Sae if their Honours fude decree 
For you to poind an' 'prifon me, 
I tell ye plain I winna flinch 
Frae their decree, na de'il ae inch ; 
But firil an' foremoft I maun fay, 
I beg their Honours will delay 
Their fentence until neifl court- day ; 
Afore whilk time, I really ettle, 
My 'count wi' you ilk plack to fettle : 
Soon as it's due it fal be fought for, 
I've now the griteft part o't wrought for 
An' foon's o' principal Fm eas'd, 
Ye fal hae intereil 'till ye're pleas'd j 



[ 46 ] 

Sae at this time — I fay nae mair, 
It only wad increafe my care ; 
I confequently clofe this letter, 
Remaining Sir, your Hum'le Debtor. 



[ 47 ] 

FROM T***** R*****, 

In anfwer to the foregoing* 



October 6. i8oc> 

Dear Sandie, I received your letter, 

Tho'Jiller wad hae pleas'd me better ; 

Yet your epiftle's ta'en effect, 

As muckle's e'er you cou'd expedt. 

Believe me, Sandie, what I fay, 

Te's nae be hurt by me this day. 

I do affure you it was need 

Caus'd me againit you to proceed. 

Ye may believe (it is nae jokin') 

For want o' filler I'm maift broken ; 

But, if I had my filler in, 

I'fe pay my trailers ilka fkin. 

To 'rreft your wages wi 1 J*** W*tt, 

Indeed, my frien\ I'll no do that ; 

That wad but fair the greedy crew, 

An* neither better me nor you. 

To fhaw you that its nae frae anger, 

I'll gie you time a little langer ; 



[ 48 ] 

Hoping as foon as in your pow'r, 
Ye'll no delay ae fingle hour ; 
An' when ye bring the filler in, 
I'll treat ye wi' a glafs o' gin. 
Meantime I am baith true and fervent, 
Your friend fincere, an' humble fervant, 

T.R. 



[ 49 1 



EPIGRAM 

On the foregoing. 



When Simon afk'd of Hodge his debt to pay, 
For three lang months he crav'd another day; 
But fure my .friend his fate fo hard won't 

think, 
He fummon'd me — next day he got the clink, 



[ So ] 



LORD MALMESBURY's RETURN 
FROM LISLE. 



The die is call — blood yet muft flow ; 

The haughty foe difdains 
To treat for peace — then, Britons, you 

Muft drain your deareft veins. 

Our rulers, generous and humane, 

Have twice an offer made, 
To raife the olive branch again, 

And flieath the murd'rous blade. 

But fince our proud imperious foes 
Say " bloody wzvjhall rage," 

Then we'll negotiate by blows ; 
Their legions we'll engage. 

Arm, Britons ! grafp th' avenging ipear 

Defy their numerous hofts 
And, by your far-fam'd fathers, fwear 

You'll guard Britannia's coafts, 



[ 5i J 

From Dover north to Shetland's ilk, 

Let's arm us every man ; 
Leave off the peaceful arts a while, 

And fliow what Britons can. 

Call back the days of former years, 

Crefiy's and Blenheim's field, 
Where Frenchmen funk beneath the fpears 

Our warlike fires did wield. 

And are their fons lefs brave than they ? 

The fhameiul thought forbid ; 
Shall Britain bend 'neath Gallic fway? 

Tis what fhe never did. 

Be Britons but to Britons true, 

We'll mock a foreign chain, 
And baffle the united crew 

Of Holland, France, and Spain. 



E 1] 



[ 52 3 



NELSONS VICTORY. 



— Y ES > Monfieur, pour forth a* your hofts 

T'annoy our happy ifle, man ; 
Attack our trade, invade our coafts ; 

At a' your threats we fmile, man ; 
Expend againft us ilka plack * 

Ta'en frae your neebor's purfe, man ; 
Ye'll foon be forc'd' to turn your back, 

Or aiblins fufFer worie, man, 

Like feme this day. 

Shall Britain ftoop to haughty Gaul, 

Or any foreign foe, man ? 
Howe, Vincent, Duncan, Nelfon, all, " 

Indignant anfwer, No, man : 
For when her foes, like fwarms o' bees, 

Aflail on ev'ry fide, man, 
O'er a' the wide extent o' feas 

Her fleets vi&orious ride, man, 

Baith night an' day. 



[ 53 3 

Ev'n when the wicked plundering knaves 

On land a footing gain, man, 
They find they can't make freemen flaves, 

In vain they wreathe their chain, man ; 
Old Albion ftands as ftive's a rock, 

Her ilka fon's a fodger ; 
An' do they think fhe'll wear their yoke ? 

Na, fegs, they ne'er fhall budge her 
On ony day. 

The fleeching dogs fet up their face, 

An' fhaw its fairefl fide, man ; 
They promife the fraternal kifs 

Whan they the Channel ftride, man ; 
But Britons meet the kind embrace 

O the great powerful nation, 
Wi' bullets rattlin' i' their face,. 

'Twas beil fraternization 

For them yon day. 

Now, Monfieur, lay afide your boaft ; 

Mynheer, the fame to you man ; 
As for poor Don, his life 'twad coft, 

Should he but play keek boo, man ; 
Brave Nelfon fhall the fea command, 

His foes unite in vain, man ; 

e iij 



[ 54 ] 

He's drubb'd them twice, an' gi'en his hand 
He'll do the like again, man, 

Some future day. 

May Heav'n blefs a' the gallant tars 

Wha point Britannia's guns, man ; 
"An' may they fliaw their glorious fears 

As patterns to their fons, man. 
In future times, whan Britain's foes 

Are hov'ring round her ifle, man, 
Then may her fons remember thofe 

Who fell near by the Nile, man, 
Yon glorious day. 

God blefs our King — lang may he reign 

Amang a happy people ; 
May a' his fecret en'mies fwing 

As high as Berwick fteeple ! 
May war be banifh'd frae our land, 

Wi' a' its noife an' thunder, 
An' may our Conftitution ftand, 

Our pride, the warld's wonder, 
Ilk comin' day ! 



r 55 3 



DEPARTURE OF THE YEAR i8do. 



HO, yes ! — to a* men be it kend 
The century now is at an end, 
Auld eighteen-hunder wi' a 'fiend 

Ends a' the clatter; 
Sae critics need nae mair contend 

About the matter. 

But fliame light on his weary friout 
Till his laft minute was run out, 
He thought to put us to the rout 

Through a' the land ; 
An' mony an honeft man gar't lout 

'Neath n:is'ry's hand. 

Whan Aughteen-hun'er was a bairn, 
His dad had left us fair forfairn, 
We never dreamt his heir wad learn 

Sic wicked turns, 
Yet, fegs, he's left mair tatter' d yarn 

An' ravell'd pirns 3 



1 56 J 

For, fince he drew his infant breath, 
He's play'd us a' nae little fkaith ; 
I trow o' brofe an' bannocks baith 

We've been fair ftentit. 
An' till he clos'd his een in death, 

He ne'er repentit. 

He play'd right mony paukie prots, 
An' cuift a hanth cruikit lots ; 
The pinchin meals an' raggit coats 

He's gi'en to hunders^ 
Will ftain his name wi' laftin' blots 

An' waefu' blunders, 

Nae doubt whan Rome had tint her hope^ 
Her kirk expo§'d without a prop, 
Her fons, waes me, too, left to grope 

In darkefi night, 
He fought them out anither Pope 

To lead them right. 

What fyne ? — Thro' Europe tak' a glance— 
Fegs, he's led fome a bonny dance ; 
Thae awelefs callans owre i' France' 

Ne'er like to fettle, 
Wi' rapid ftrides they yet advance 

A*i' alk for battle, 



[ <7 -1 

Sure muckle worthy bluid they've fpilt, 
Marengo can bear witnefs till't, 
Whare mony a fword gaed to the hilt 

In Melas' band, 
The lofs o' whilk was forely felt 

Owre a' this land, 

It gars us a' e'en look right four, 
To think the lowns kick up fie ftour, 
An' fae perplex a' Royal pow'r ; 

For troth I fancy 
They've nearly made the Emp'ror cowr, 

Guid honeil F******, 

O wad the chiels refrain frae blows, 
An' ufe fome means to put a clofe 
To war, an' its attendin' woes, 

By laftin' truce ! 
Yet fome they fay do this oppofe, 

Whilk plays the deuce. 

For now that biuftrin' billie ? Paul, 
His impudence has grown fae baui', 
He's ifflt'd out fome wicked fcrawl, 

An' laid embargo 
On Britifh veffels,. great an' fmall, 

Sailors an' cargo. 



[ 58 3 

The ftirrah thinks to fleg us a', 
His 1 — ie legions out he'll ca' ; 
An' troth, his crazie head may fa' 

Upo' the notion, 
To kick our ifland like a ba' 

Frae out the ocean, 

There's ae thing I had maift forgot, 
You've play'd poor Paddy a fad prot, 
An' made him equal to the Scot j 

For, wi' a blatter, 
You ramm'd your dagger thro' the throat 

O's Legislature. 

Now, arrah ! faith the chiel may paufe, 
An' aiblins think there was nae caufe ; 
What then ? — he maun fubmit to laws, 

An' naething fay, 
Enadted 'thin St. Stephen's wa's 

By night or day* 

O thou firft-born o' Nineteen-hunder, 
Thou'rt come into a warld o' wonder, 
An' mony a blot an' mony a blunder 

Thou' ft got to mend ; 
While mony an honeft chiel ftrikes under 

Sn^H Mis'ry's hand. 



[ 59 3 

But yet though you are but a laddie, 
Wha kens but you may cow the caddie, 
An' mak' amends for your auld daddie, 

Wha vex'd us a' ; 
Gif ye be as unkind, Fd redd ye 

To keep awa. 

But, bonnie bairnie ! o' be guid, 
An* try to item the fwellin' fluid ; 
Send a great rowth o' claife an' food 

To ilka ane ; 
An' gie's nae caufe to bann your bluid 

Whan ye are gane. 



C 60 ] 



THE 



EAGLE TROOP OF BERWICKSHIRE, 



A SONC. 



Tunc—"' A y that an 9 a 9 that." 



Besouth the hills o' Lammermuir, 

The farmers, lairds, an' a' that, 
Hae form'd a band o' yeomen true, 
The Eagle Troop they ca' that ; 
A' that an' a' that, 

Our country's caufe, an' a' that, 
Shall Britons cowr an' yield their rights? 
No — mortal never faw that. 

In days o* yore, whan lang-legg'd Ned 
Strade o'er the Tweed, and a' that, 



[ 6i ] 

To rob oar lairds, to burn our towns, 
Tenflave our fires an' a' that; 
A' that an' a' that, 

Ding down our kirks an' a' that,]' 
The Border lads their mettle fhaw'd, 
An 1 prov'd it was nae law that. 

The trufty fons o' Berwickftiire, 

Ay loyal, brave, an' a' that, 
Again refolve to i&y,Jland yont, 
To French an' Danes an' a' that; 
A' that an' a' that, 

Wi' glitt'ring fword an* a' that, 
See S*********** riding at their head, 
Wi' helmet, creft, an' a' that. 

On S plains ye may rejoice, 

Baith young an' auld, an' a' that, 
Your landlord will your rights iupport, 
The S******Ues an' a' that ; 
A' that an' a' that, 

An' mony mae than a' that, 
Let them wha thought to coup tlie ftate 
Gae hide their heads frae a' that. 

Whan Britain ca's her faithfu' fons 
To rin to arms an' a' that, 



[ 62 J 

Whole legions to the ftandard flock 
In Caledonia yet • 
A' that an' a' that, 

Their ancient fame an' a' that ; 
A braver than the Eagle Troop 
Auld Scotland never faw yet. 

Our King may keep his mind at eafe, 

Laugh at his faes an' a' that, 
His kingdom's fafe— his throne fecure, 
While ilk ane mauna fa' that ; 
A' that an' a' that, 

There's Louis too, an' a' that, 
Puir man ! oblig'd to beg his bread, 
In foreign lands an' a' that. 

Let B********* through Britain peep, 

He'll fee her fons, for a' that, 
Like hearts of oak unite an 5 keep 
Her frae his grafp an' a' that ; 
A' that an' a' that, 

Our wooden walls an' a' that, 
If he come here, we'll break his crown, 
An' fend him hame to claw that, 

Succeis to a* Britannia's bairns 
Wha wear the fword an' a' that, 



C 6 3 3 

Air the brave heroes o' the Merfe, 
Whafe courage ne'er was.fma' yet ; 
A' that an' a' that, 

The Eagle Troop an' a' that, 
An' may the Scottifh Eagle foar 
Aboon his en'mies a' yet, 



FIJ 



C 64. ] 



EPIGRAM. 



Love wifhes ay his darling to be feen, 
In public or in private, neat and clean ; 
Thinks in her abfence ilka hour a week, 
Attends wi' tranfport if Ihe deigns tofpeak; 
But Marriage \ ah, how rude an' how ill bred, 
Can kick the ance-kv'd ohjeSl out o* bed, 
Turn frae the charms whilk he did ance a- 

dore, 
Then pou his night- cap o'er his een an'fnore. 



[ 6 5 J 



THE PLAGUES 0> RICHES. 



rile go<wd, the Mifer'sjlrong proteBion^ 
Tho't bear him through in a had caufe, 

It~aft di/fohes the bejl connedion, 

/in' breaks the faith o J Frlendjhifs laws. 



The weary gowd — a wae betide if, 
A plague to a' the human race ; 

Bein' fae unevenly dividit, 

Drives mony a chiel frae place to place. 

They wha are doom'd, wi' toil an 5 fweatin', 
To pafs their days in grief an' pain^ 

Find human joys fae faufe an' fleeting 
The wifh'd for end they ne'er can gain, 

The humble wight wha hard maun toil ay, 
Beneath Misfortune's dreary frown, 

To do his beft, will find it folly 

To try to fave — a bare ha'f-crown : 

f iij 



[ 66 ] 

For when his fax days darg is endit, 
An' he the fair won pence can draw, 

Aught Shillings!— what way fall he fpend it? 
Twa pecks o' meal condemn it a\ 

At hame he has a daintie wifie, , 
rive honnie bairns as ane can fee, 

A hunder thoughts torment his life ay, 
To eafe the hardfhips they maun dree. 

He cautions them againft repinin', 
At what wife Heav'n has decreed— 

Sec ! joy on ilka face is fhinin' — 

He's got his pay — he's brought thembread. 

For twa- three days adieu to mournin', 
. An' joy an' peace affume the reign ; 
But, ah ! ere nieil pay-day's returning 
'Tis juft the auld thing owre again. 

— Yet letna fowk wha wear fie features, 
Prefume too rafhly to conclude, 

That they're the.wretchedeft o' creatures 
'Caufe no bleft wi' a filler flood. 

Their life is quite a ] ife o' pleafure, 
They never feel the care an' pain 



[ 67 ] 

That gnaws upon the wretched mifer, 
Whale only hope is heaps o' gain. 

He joys to fee his coffers filling 

To help thera up he ftarves his wife ; 

An' think ye -he'd part wi' a fhillin' ? 
Nc — wer't to fave a brother's life. 

An' fade e'er Heav'n augment his curfes, 
An' caufe the birkie draw his pence, 

Midwives to pay, or to hire nurfes, 
Sair, fair he frets at the expence ; 

Or if, black luck ! he rears a daughter, 
He fears left diftant w f ants opprefs; 

He values not the kintra's laughter, 
An' he himfel' imun'Jhape her drefs* 

An' if, belyve, her charms invitin', 
Sude chance to tak' fome laddie's e'e, 

Auld Dad fcarce e'er refrains frae fiytin', 
Until he learn wha it may be. 

Though e'er fae worthlefs, ha'e he plenty, 
Then a' is right — " 'tis unco weel ;" 

Be what it may — if gear be fcanty, 
He fwears fhe's rinnia' " to the de'iL" 



[ 68 ] 

A proof a' this I faw but lately, 

Whilk greatly crofs'd a loving pair ;- 

Young J****, blooming, tall an' ftately, 
Sweet P****, charming, young an' fair* 

Auld Skinflint nearly gangs diftra&ed,. 
Whan he the dreadfu' tale does hear, 

That P**** friendfhip has contraded 
Wi' J**** 9 though he has nae gear. 

He le&ur'd 'bout the worth o' riches; 
That bleft are they their good wha ken, 

An' fhaw'd that nane but worthlefs wretched- 
Wad ever wed wi' placklefs men. 

He try'd her nieftupon Religion ; : 

'Tis faid he even did pretend, 
For to explain its hail origin, 

Where it began, an' where 'twill end* 

Thus mony a weary text he gave her, 
An' prov'd, wi' grave an' folemn face, 

" That filler makes a firm believer, 

" That gowd's the fureft marko' grace." 

The laflie, blufhin' wi' confufion,: 
Wad hear him out frae end to end, 



C 6 9 ] 

Ev'n frae the Preface to Conclufion, 
-But flill it didna change her mind. 

Sae, whan he faw his holy arrows 

Ne'er touch'd her heart, but harmlefsfell, 

A lafliing nieft — Gude have a care o'us 1 
Was ever worfe contriv'd in h— ? 

An' now clofe prifoner fhe's keepit, 
An' doors an' windows a' made fall, 

She lay in bed, but ■ -little fleepit, ' 

'Till fax lang owks an' mair were pail ; 

While J**** is in fecret tryin' 
To loofe her frae the weary jail ; 

While (he for him is w T eepin*, fighin\ 
But ilka fcheme he tried did fail. 

The chiel, wha us'd ay to be cheerie, 
To fee acquaintance now thinks fhame j 

O' ilka former joy grow 7 s weary, 
O' friends, o' country, an' o' harne* 

Sae aff he fets in lang excurfion, 
He wha was joyfu', blyth an' kind, 

In diftant climes to feek diverfion, 
An' banifli forrow frae his mind. 



[ 7 o ] 

His fa wit- Jhip now let's free his daughter. 
Forthwith her fetters are unbound, 

Whilk had excited unco laughter, 
An' tauk to a' the kintra round. 

He thought his herdin' now was endit, 
Sae lays afide the weary tether ; 

But vain his hope — nor cou'd he mend it— 
Str aught aff foe's run wvjic anither. 

Then, fpite o' a' the laws o 9 Nature, 

Left his dear cafh fhou'd gang to wreck, 

Cramm'd in a wallet — wretched creature 1 
He trudg'd awa wi't on his back, 

To Embro' ftraught, to difinherit 

His aln dear bairn — (a curfed prank) 

His favour never mair to merit, 
An' ftow'd his treafure i' the Bank. 

An' wha kens but the chiel may fend for^t^ 
When. Spirt le- Shanks fhall let him ken,. 

That now he has nae ither end for't, 
But leav't on earth wi' Jinftf men* 

For, O, how fad the mort'fication ! 

To part wi's faul — his hope — his gear ; 



[ 7i ] 

Cempar'd wi 1 this, even d — n 

Is but a trifling thing to fear. 

Thus gowd, the mifer's ftrong protection, 
May bear him through in a bad caufe, 

Yet aft diflblves the beft connection, 

An' breaks the faith o' Friendship's laws. 

Thrice happy they wham Heaven does fend ay 
Enough to fair them in their need, 

An 1 wha can mak' a decent fend ay 
Wi' brats o' claife an' bits o ? bread. 

The man wha thus can lh T e contentit, 

^r feels iniatiate thirft o' gain, 
His mind, by Friendship's laws cementit, 
Will be a itranger ay to pain. 

But, weary gowd ! a wae betide it, 
A plague to a' the human race, 

Bern' fee unevenly diyidit, 

Drives mony a chiel frae place to place. 



[ 72 J 



ROBIN's LAMENT 

~£. POX TH2 

DEATH OF HIS FAVOURITE BICK WHISKEY. 



Great are the forrows feme maun bear 
In daun'rin' roun' life's weary fphere ; 
The lofs o' goods — the lofs o' gear, 

Gars fome fo'k mourn, — 
But my bit bead I loo'd fae dear, 

'S laid in her urn. 

A vile mifhanter fa' ye, Death, 

What brought ye, wi' your deadly graith, 

To bring on me lie muckle ikaith, 

An' wi' your knife, 
To flap my cannie beaftie's breath, 

An' tak' her life ? 



r 73 ] 

Puir Whufky, dainty, harmlefs creature, 
Although that fhe was form'd by Nature 
O' a conceited, fecklefs ftature, 

What fyne ? nor fhe 
A cleanlier, tighter beaft, or neater, 

Fient ane cou'd fee. 

She ne'er was ken to hae a mind 
At onie time to ill inclin'd, 
But penfively fhe aft reclin'd 

Upo' my knee, 
An' cheerfu', canty ay and kind, 

As beaft cou'd be; 

An' ready ay whan there was need, 

If hens ratch'd through the houfe wi' greed, 

Or 'mang the corn they gaed to feed — 

Or horfe or nowte— 
She wad hae gart them rin wi' fpeed, 

An' roar an' rowte. 

Whan I had ta'en an e'enin' wauk, 
Wi' neebor chiels to get a crack, 
Puir beaftie, fhe was never flack — 

My dainty Whifky 
But trottit 'fore or hint my back 

Ay blythe an' frifky, 
G 



[ 74 ] 

But now I may fu' lanely gang, 

An' crime away fome mournfu' fang ; 

Nae mair I'll join the jovial thrang, 

But mourn my fate ; 
For fie a bead it will be lang 

Ere I will get. 

O, Death! had ye nae ither faes, 
Nae corbie craws or rav'nous kaes, 
Or wylie tods about the braes, 

Right loun'ly lurkin', 
Or fma'er cattle, jumpin' flaes, 

To drive your durlc in ? 

What forro' fetch'd you wi' your mell, 
My harmlefs beallie for to fell ? 
Was't caufe ye cou'dna get myfel' 

Ye took my beaft ? 
De'il nor ye ne'er had come frae h — 

To here at leaft. 

For now the rottens they may reel 
Through a' the houfe, an' thieve an' ileal, 
Chow through the ark, and eat the meal, 

An' cheefe an' bread ; 
They'll fhortly play the verra de'il, 

Sin' Whiflcy's dead. 



[ 75 3 

But fure in vain the tear does fa*, 
It can't bring back what is awa, 
An' the fame fate awaits us a', 

Aye, ilka man, 
His lateft breath maun fome time draw, 

He kensna whan, 



0»J 



[ 7* ] 



TO W****** b**** F***##* 



Dear W*****, I hae feen the time, 
That ye, in either profe or rhyme, 

Wadna been ha'f fae lang, 
O' lettin' auld acquaintance ken, 
What way you in this warP fen', 

In midft o' a' your thrang. 
This warPs a warP o' mifhaps, 
Although to feme it yields, 
However fcanty be the craps, 
The efTence o' the fields : 

Come rhyme then, in time then, 

An' dinna be fae fweir, 
Left ruin, purfuin', 

Sude catch you P the rear. 

Nae doubt fome chiels are right weel aff, 
Can eat an' drink, an' crack an' laugh, 
WP grit fo'k d* the town; 



C 77 ] 

They wha on roaftit beef can dine, 
An' fynd it down wi' punch or wine. 

Hae little caufe to frown ; 
Yet fcores like me can fcarcely get 

Wherewith to flap their maw, 
An' gladly wad gar fair for meat 
What fome fo'k caft awa\ 
Potatoes ! (what that is 

To monie's o'er weel kend), 
'S the maift then we tafte then, 
By whilk we mak' a fend. 

But ye may ever blefs the day, 
That Fortune hoy't ye clean away, 

Frae fie a wretched life ; 
That's fill'd wi' nought but griefs an*" cares, 
A warldfa* o' plagues an' fnares, 

An' never-endin' ftrife ; 
For let a chiel gae fight his fill>« 

An' labour night an' day, 
Adverfity the fport will fpill, 
An' fient hae't e'er he'll ha'e : 
Sae come then, an' hum then, 

Upo' your claffic lear, 
For preachin', or teaching 
Keeps fo'k ay fat an' fair, 
G iij 



L 78 J 

Now, as the limmer's been fae kind, 
As do what fhe at firft defign'd, 

An's gi'en ye fie a heezie ; 
An' bang'd ye up three ftories higher, 
Than they wha toil through dub and mire, 

An' gart ye live fae eafy ; 
Ay guide yourfel' as weel's you can, 

Though now by her your dawtit, 
For, ere the thread o' life be run* 
It may be bitter fawtit. 

Take care then, a$' 'ware tben> 

Whan need does only ftioar ye. 
But keep fliil a heap ftill, 
Ye kennae. what's afore ye. 

There's little news about this place 
O' confequence^ that I can trace ; 

But poverty #11'* want 
Now mak's us a' to quake wi' fear, 
How we'll get through anitljpr year, 

An' ilka thing fae leant : 
Sic pinchin' feKfcm e'er was kend, 

Or't has been far atween ; 
An' whan it will come to an ei*d, 

Wha fees has right clear een : 
Sic fcrapin', an' fhapin', 

Things out — to gar them fair. 



f 79 J 

Is awefome, an' ftawfome, 
Baith here and monie where. 

For me — 'tis little I can teik 
Particular, about myfel' ; 

I'm fomething like* the reft 
O' fo'k, that's born to be guar ; 
Or turkies te'ther'd iri^a mflitif 

Wi' poverty opprefs'd : , 

A while 1'vje left the dinfome clajrfqur, 

That rages' in the jpjfrook, 
I'm fightin^wi* the knappin' hammer, 
The picks, the fpades, an' fhools ; 
Whiles tugginV-an' ruggin 5 

Up baith the y ird^taf ft£he< 
Sair crUckin', an* racial', 
To my puir feeble B-afres. 

Yet, midft o' a' this brulziement, 
Fegs, W*****, I'jn ay content, 

An' that is beft ata* ; *&&' 
Though warldjy^ge&r it be na£^rife, 
He wha has a contentit life, 

His comforts^prce nae fnia' : 
Though wearied I at e'en come in, 

Befide a good peat ingle, 
I fet me down wi' little din, 

An' gar my jargon jingle : 



C 80 ] 

Nae mair then, I care then, 
Wham Fortune may beguile, 

She's left me — fhe's reft me 
O' monie a cheerfu' fmile. 

This while it has run in my head 
(Although it fills my faul wi' dread), 

To try my fate in print ; 
Now I expect you'll nae be nice, 
But let me ha'e your kind advice, 

That's a' the flap that's in't ; 
An' then if this my crazy fcheme, 

Sude meet your approbation, 
I'll o' my wark think nae mair fhame. 
But feize the firft occalion, 
To tent it, an' print it, 

Whatever may betide, 
Then fend it, an' vend it, 
Through a' the kintra wide* 

Sae now I fal gae end this fang, 
Left ye fude think it unco lang, 

An' downa read it through ; 
Ye'll fay it is an unco haver, 
A heap o' ufelefs jinglin' claver — 

Yet troth there's feme o't true : — 



[ 8i ] 

But foon's ye can (I will exped 

Ye winna be adverfe), 
A twathree lines ye may direct 
To Sandiei' the Merse : 
I trow then, I vow then, 

'Twill be a welcome gueft, 
Till it come, I'll fit dumb, 
An' keep my mind at reft. 



; 









[ 82 ] 



TO T***** R**### g 



My guid auld, honeft, trufly cock, 
I fee you want now to provoke 
Me ance again to loofe ray pock, 

An* rhyme awa\ 
About fome certain odd kind* fo'k, 

Wha plague us a\ 

An* troth it was nae vain pretext 
Whilk gart me fa* on fie a text; 
Sure ne'er a birkie was fae vext 

As I hae been ; 
An' how I am to fortune next 

Is no weel feen. 

Yet fpite o' a* the ills I dree, 
I ever did and will agree, 



[ 8 3 ] 

The powers aboon, to pick a plea, 

Ha'e muckle caufe, 

'Gainft monie mae nor you an' me, 
For broken laws. 

I own its true what ye do fay, 

That " Heaven wad fend us, day by day ? 

" Our daily bread, we a 5 fude pray," 

An' ne'er be fear'd ; 
But whare is Heav'n to fend it frae ? 

An't may be fpier'd. 

We canna for our verra bloods, 
Expect that fardels frae the clouds, 
Or cakes, or icones, will come in thuds, 

That wad be fine ; 
Like Ifraei wanderi-n' through the woods, 

Ye ken langfyne. 

Yet, after a plain truth to fpeak, 
? Tis furely right by prayer to feek — - 
But, T*f \ that's lie a kittle fteek, 

We aften gang, 
Whan we upon proud felf do keek, 

Clean wucte wransr. 



[ 84 ] 

Nae doubt a chiel fude ay be hum'le, 
An' never at his fortune grum'le, 
E'en though he fude ha'e got a tum'Ie 

Frae tow'rin' plenty ; 
Yet, O, vain man is apt to ftum'le, 

On folly bent ay. 

But, trowth, ye needna mak' compare 
'Tween human kind an' fowls o' th' air ; 
Sma', very fma' wad be our care 

(Ye may depend), 
Were we like them — we'd ay be where 

We bell cou'd fend. 

To crofs the feas wad be a fhame, 
An' mony a ane has rued that fcheme, 
But, tent me — Pfe ne'er bear the blame 

O' fie a jaunt ; 
I dearly like my native hame, 

Though prefs'd wi' want. 

Tho' plagued wi' mony a downright knave, 
Tho' whiles ha'f funk 'neath misery's wave, 
The ftorm wi' a' its force may rave, 

I'll prime my nofe ; 
An' wi' unihaken nerve I'll brave 

Life's peltin' woes. 



[ 85 ] 

Contentedly I'll jog alang, 

The bufy crowd o' life frae 'mang ; 

An' though my wind-pipe be nae ftrang, 

Wi' heart fu' true, 
I'll ay exchange the tither fang, 

Dear friend, wi' you. 



H 



[ 86 ] 



EPISTLE FROM T***** R>**** 



My honeft, fonfie rhymin' blade, 
At e'en whan ye fling by the fpade, 
Gae fa' to w ark— as I think lang 
To feafh upon anither fang ; — 
Swith, choofe your fubjeft, an' upon it 
Let's hae fome epigram or fonnet ; 
Or ony o' your canty flights, 
To wear awa' the winter nights. 

For bleak December's now come in, 
Whafe cauld defies the thickeft fkin, 
That freezes up the warmeft blind, 
An' gars fo'k o'er the ingle brood ; 
Difmal an' dreary looks the time, 
Ane wad maift fay a' things combine 
For to deftroy baith man an' bead, 
(The puirer fort o' them at leaft). 

Whan I ftep out an' view the North, 
Frae whilk the tempefl iflues forth, 



5 



[ 8 7 ] 

\W fnaw an* hail borne by the breeze, 
Growlin' amang the bendin' trees, 
As by the roots it wad them tear, 
An' on its angry wings them bear. 

Ah, then, I fay, how hard the cafe 
O' them wha hae nae hiding place, 
Nae fhelter frae December's blaft, 
To lurk until its fury's pad ; 
But a' its bitter fough man dree 
Like burds that fkulk frae tree to tree 
Wi'pinchin' hunger faint within, 
An' fcarce a rag to hide their fkin. 
Beholdin' whyles lie fcenes o' woe, 
My eyes fpontaneous overflow. 
O wad grit fo'k but fee their grief, 
An' fend the fons of woe relief, 
? Tis theirs their fufferings to affuage, 
When ftrugglin' under Famine's rage. 

Forgi'e me for this dolefu' rhyme, 
(I cou'dna help it at the time), 
My fpirits are fae fair deprefs'd 
Wi' feeing fo'k fae fair diftrefs'd. 
On ftridtly vie win' things — we fee 
This warld but a farce to b?, 

Hij 



[ 88 ] 

A chequer' d fcene of woe throughout, 
(Although the truth o't fome may doubt j) 
Nae doubt the rich fo'k fare fae weel, 
The ills o' life they never feel : 
But aft I've feen a gilded book 
Whafe outfide e'en right fair did look, 
But turn it up — fee, tales o' wae, 
Plots, murders, tragedies, an' fae. — 
Now fure this does a leflbn teach, 
As ftrang as e'er Mefs John did preach, 
That we fhou'd upwards turn our face, 
An' ftrive to reach that happy place, 
Whafe bleffed bounds ne'er harbour'd woe, 
Nor Sorrow's tear fhall ever flow. 

Dec. 1800. T. R. 



[ 8 9 3 



THE LOVELESS LASS's SOLILOQUY; 



A SONG. 



Time-.— " He ivinna do for tee J* 



Young S*****'s woo'd me ear an' late, 

For fax lang years and mair, 

But if he keiit his lucklefs fate, 

He ne'er wad woo me mair ; 

An' weel I wat he lo'es me dear, 

As dear as dear can be, 
But, waes my heart, he has nae gear, 
He winna do for me. 

Aft has he come to tell his mind, 
Deep wadin' through the fna', 

He's been to me a lover kind, 
The kindeft e'er I faw: 

H iij 



I 90 1 

When lock'd within his arms, I'm fure 

Nae lafs can happier be, 
But then, alas ! he is fae puir, 

He winna do for me. 

To gang to be a cottar's wife, 
The thought I canna bear, 
I cou'dna live fie toilfome life, 
Nor ufe fie hamely cheer ; 

My braw filk gowns, an' ither graith, 

Soon a' in rags might flie, 
Cou'd I put up wi' this ? — na, faith, 
It wadna do for me. 

My daddie he wad me difown, 

An' a' my friends wad fay, 
6t Were Ihe to marry S***** B****, 
" She'd fling herfel' away." 

What tho' I've often blufli'd confent, 

His wedded wife to be ? 
1 tak' my word — I do repent — 
He winna do for me. 

Ware I to wad a placklefs guff, 

I to my coft wad find it, 
For love, an' friendfhip, an' fie fluff* 

I've nae defign to mind it. 



[ 9* ] 

Sae wi' the miller I'll awa, 
Whate'er my fate may be, 

For he's the man can keep me braw, 
Sae he's the lad for me. 



[ 92 ] 



TO Mr. W****** m####*#### 

ON HIS MARRIAGE. 



A SONG, 



Tune — " Eivie wi y the crooked horn* 1 * 



Chorus, 



lour M****n,fweeter than the morn, 
Whan dew-draps hang upd* the thorn, 
The faul maunfrae its hool he torn, 

Ere ye wV her maun part ava. 

Dear W*****, now ye've got a wife, 
To be the partner o' your life, 
May ne'er that curfed thing, ca'd ftrife, 
Divide your lovin' minds in twa. 



[ 93 J 

/To ha'e your minds, baith late an' ear, 
United, be your conftant care, 
For without that ye never mair 

Need hope to luck or thrive ava, 

Ay whan ye wander far frae hame, 
Be mind fa* o' your lovin' dame, 
An' never gi'e her caufe to blame 

Ye for your bidin' lang awa. 

An' if ye fometimes fpy a quean, 

Wi' rofy cheeks an' fparklin' een, 

Let nae rude thought e'er come between 

Her an' your Love that's far awa, 

An' if fome wild mifchievous wight 
Attempt to rob you o' your right, 
Ne'er try wi' words the lown to fright, 

But daud his head againft the wa\ 

Though Britain wide were i' your grafp, 
Prefer it not to Marion's clafp ; 
An' whan ye die, your hinmoft gafp, 

Will be wi' grief ye part ava, 

Chorus, 



E 94 ] 

Chorus. 

Your M n, fweeter than the mora 

Whan dew«draps hang upoVthe thorn, 
The faul maun frae its hool be torn ? 

Ere ye wi' her maun part ava. 



[ 95 3 



3 O N G. 



Tune — " InvenauhPs Reel.'' 



Though I be puir, ait ha'e nae gear, 

I ha'e a mind fit high; 
Art ftmkin pride I carina bide, 

However laigh I lie. 

Commend me to a lafs that's kind, 
Ane o' a frank an' open mind ; 
Wi' ane like this I'm now defign'd 

My fortune for to try. 

He's furely but a ftupit afs, 

That wad let fax lang fimmers pafs, 

In wooin' o' a thrawart lafs, 

Wha cafls her head fae high. 

Though ance (he was as kind an' free 
As ony kintra lafs cou'd be, 



[ 96 ] 

> 

For want o' gear (he's flighted me, 
But fient a ftrae care I. 

The want o' gear's an unco thing ; 
On gowd do Love an' Friendfhip hing ; 
But, wanting that, they baith tak' wing, 
An' far away they fly. 

An' L*****'s pride, I do declare, 
Has caus'd me nae fma' grief an' care, 
But it fhall never vex me mair, 

Sae I'll be juft as fhy. 

Though I be puir, I hae nae dread 
But I'll get ay my daily bread, 
An' fome kind laflie, too, I'll wed, 

An' Fortune's frowns defy. 

Chorus. 
Though I be puir, an' ha'e nae gear, 

I ha'e a mind fu* high ; 
An* flinkin' pride I canna bide, 

However laigh I lie. 



[ 97 J 



SONG. 

T a DC—* * Wat ye wha I met yejlreen . * ' 



How happy was my morn o' love, 
Whan Betty firft did won my heart, 

My mind then ne'er did wifh to rove, 
Nor from her lovely form to part. 

If frae my fight flie chanc'd to dray, 

How flowly did the minutes pais ; 
An hour to me appear Vi a day, 
Whan abient frae the bonny lafs. 

But Fortune (wha ? s been ay unkind) 
Has now deprived me o 9 her charms, 

Has ta'en the lafs maift to my mind, 
An' thrown her in anither's arms. 



[ 98 3 

For her, I now may mourning gae, 
— May Betty never feel fie pain ; 

Let Love protect her heart frae wae, 
The wound in mine will heal again. 



[ 99 3 



FROM T***** r**#**. 



Yet hear what thy unfkilful friend can fay, 
As if one blind pretends to fhow the way ; 
Yet fee a while, if what is fairly fhown 
Be good, and fuch as ye may make your own, 

Creech. 



Sir, 

The letter whilk I gat frae you, 
Tells me that you're in earned now, 
To bring your rhyroin' ware to view 

O' the wide warl' ; 
Though fome, nae doubt, (ye'Il find it true) 

Wi' it may quarrel. 

But books A like men, maun tak' their fate, 
An' bear fheir fhare o' love an' hate, 
This is the cafe wr fma' an' great, 

Whate'er their ltation ; 
Frae beggars to the men o' ftate, 

Wha rule the nation. 



[ IOO ] 

There's many a poet I cdu'd name, 
Wha though they've get a deathlefs fame, 
Yet fnarlin' critics e'en on them 

Ha'e made right free ; 
Sae dinna ferlie though the fame 

Sude fa' to thee. 

My beft advice to you I fend, 
WHlk for your good I do intend, 
Though troth I hardly need pretend 

E'er to be fit ; 
But yet a fool has whiles been ken'd 

The truth to hit. 

Then, Sandie, ere ye prent your buik, 
Be fure ye gi'e't a carefu' leuk, 
An' try it weel, frae neuk to neuk, 

Wi' keen infpeclion ; 
An' fee ye ufe the pruning heuk 

Whare there's defe&iom 

An' if ye wilh to wear the laurels, 
Gi'e naething to corrupt the morals ; 
Thus ye at leaft may fhun the quarrels 

O' a' doufe fo'k, 
Though wags perhaps may throw the fnarls. 

An' taunt an' mock. 



[ 101 ] 

'Tis furely right, while in our prime, 
Whate'er we write in profe or rhyme, 
To think it may outlive our time, 

To after age ; 
Then never let licentious theme 

Our pen engage. 

Then, when auld age fhall tirr the crown, 
A man can look wi' joy aroun', 
His writings chafte, his morals foun', 

Will nane injure ; 
Sae wi' compofure lays him down 

At his lad hour. 



i iij 



[ IQ 2 ] 

TO Mr, T***** r***#* 
Id anfwer to the foregoing. 



My honeft, true, and worthy frien% 

I gratefully allow, 
The guid advice that ye ha'e gi'en, 

Is orthodox an' true ; 
I b'lieve it feldom e'er was feen, 

A -rhymer yet gat through 
'Thout fome fo'k dittin' up his een, 

An' aiblhxs fome his mou'. 

There are wha hae been thought but laroe r 

An' yet ha'e laurels won ; 
An' fome ha'e even gain'd a name 

Afore they'd weel begun. 
Perhaps I muckle am to blame, 

But now the rifk I'll run ; 
Ye ken I dinna write for fame ; 

What then ? — why, juft for fun* 



[ 103 ] 

It canna do me muckle ill 

However fo'k may ca' me, 
They canna leflen the guid will 

The warld e'er did fhaw me ; 
Sae let them e'en gae flyte their fill, 

Their clatter ne'er fhall awe me, 
I'll try to war lie o'er the hill, 

Whatever may befa' me. 

Bred to misfortune frae my youth, 

I've little now to fear ; 
Yet ftill the naked downright truth 

I'd conftantly revere ; 
E'en though forne birkies, wha ha'e rowth 

O' waridly pelf an' gear, 
Againft me open aft the mouth, 

But always fhut the ear. 

Some fay that Fortune is horn-blind, 

An' fome ca' her a w 7 itch, 
Some praife her as a larnmie kind, 

But I fay Ihe's a ; 

-An', trowth, I never was inclin'd 

To'r ladyfhip to crouch ; 
I've ftill an independent mind 2 

Though little i' my pouch, 



[ 104 ] 

At times ane canna weel refrain 

To cenfure cap'rin* Pride, 
Her brazen front's a perfect ftain 

To a' the warld wide ; 
Here fome are mountit, (O how vain !) 

Wi' buits an' fpurs they ride ; 
There flighted merit, in a drain, 

Maun ply wi' droukit hide. 

For me, for a' their pompous glare, 

The great I don't envy ; 
Believe me, Tam, they ha'e their care 

As weel as you or I ; 
Robb'd o' their wealth, they ha'e nae mair 

To gar them look fae high, 
Whilk to prevent, baith late an' ear', 

Does a' their thoughts employ. 

I in a cottage here do dwell, 

As happy's they wha're higher, 
To fee my Lizzie and my Bell 

Ay right's my chief defire ; 
Though poverty baith fharp and fnell, 

An' want, do aft confpire, 
To introduce fome fiend o' — , 

To kindle up a fire. 



E 105 3 

Then black'ning clouds appear in View, 

Sae thick, make ane afraid, 
We canna pay ilk ane their due, 

An' Fortune lends nae aid ; 
Yet whyles, v/han mortals dreighly bow, 

Contentment, lovely maid ! 
Does kindly open fcenes quite new, 

Then ilka fear is laid. 

My very heart exultin' loups, 
Whane'er fie theme I light on, 

Life's bitter cup it fairly coups> 
An' ilka thing fets right on ; 

Sae henceforth let me bid adieu, 
To a' my cares an' croffes ; 

Come, blefs'd Content ! it is for you 

I'd wade through rnuirs an' molTes* 
* * , '#, ^ s? % % 



[ -io6 ] 



TO T***# p*** b##*#**#* # 



Sir, 

Now, in this month o' fweet April, 
Juft whan a* Nature 'gins to fmile, 
Will ye gae drap your fpade a while, 

An' eafe your back, 
An' read (though in plain kintra ftyle), 

My hamely crack, 

Chiels wha are bred 'mang muirs an' bogs, 
An' little hear but croakin'yft^ s, 
Or fee but tautie-hippit hogs, 

Nibblin' the heather ; 
'Tis little, troth, fie -wretched dogs 

Can do but blether. 

Yet here, in Lammermuir, there's chaps 
Inur'd to clim'in', fcaurs, an' flaps, 
Though fields yield nae fie yellow craps, 

As 'bout Tweed Jide ; 
They fee their bloomin' heather taps, 

Wi' joy an' pride. 



[ io7 ] 

I own on Tweeda's banks to ftray, 

By clofia* eve or op'nin' day, 

Whare lintwhites chant upo' the fpray, 

Wi' cheerfu' throats, 
Ilk thing combines t' infpire the lay, 

An' raife the notes. 

Whilft we, wha dwall 'mang hills an' rocks, 
Whare Ceres ha'f our labour mocks, 
To ufher in — nae feather' d flocks, 

The cheerfu' fpring, 
But whaups, an' plivers, an 9 muir-cocks, 

How can we fing ? 

Yet whyles, although we be nae gude, 
(Whan winter frofts do clear the blude), 
We fometimes fa' upo' the mood, 

Whan nights are lang ? 
To try, although baith rough an' rude, 

To mak' a fang. 

Ye'd laugh to hear us grunt an' grane, 
For muirland chiels are aft but vain ; — 
Here whare I fit, retir'd alane, 

Your rhymin' ware, 
Dear J**** has made me fidgin' fain, 

I do declare. 



I 108 j 

Troth onie chiel may freely fay, 
Although it was baith dark an' grey, 
Whan ye purfu'd your nightly way, 

Wi' weary {hanks, 
Apollo fure infpir'd your lay, 

On Tiviot's banks. 

Nae wonder though in penfive mood, 
Whan ye drew near the ruins rude, 
Whare ance the Border's Bulwark flood, 

Though now right low; 
Whare Scotfmen aft made fouthern blude 

In ftreams to flow. 

Sic dreary thoughts might wee] affright, 
Whan envelop'd in fchle night, 
An' no ae fparklin' object bright, 

The mind to cheer, 
"Till out frae Kelfo fprang a light, 

Bright fhinin' clear. 



i o 1 



Then did the notes flow fmooth an' fweet, 
O' Kelfo, fae compact, complete, 
Sic fpacious market-place, lie ftreet, 

Whare, thick an' thrang, 
The lads and lafles w^eel might meet, 

To hear thy fang. 



[ io 9 ] 

How Tweed did fpread, baith braid an 5 wide, 
O'er bank an' brae, wi' unco ftride, 
How Kelfo Brigg £he forc'd to Hide 

Frae its foundation. 
An' fink before her rollin' tide, 

In defolation. 

O ! Tweeda's verdant haughs an' woods, 
Whare Mufic echoes 'mang the buds, — 
In canty har'ft, what merry crowds 

Do reap the fields, — 
The fient a place aneath the clouds 

Mair pleafure yields. 

An' you, O celebrated P*** ! 
May ye ne'er w T ear a dowie face ; 
Ye fing fae fweet, wi' fie a grace, 

Sae fmooth an' fine, 
Ane eafily may the genius trace 

In ilka line. 

Lang may the Mufe infpire your flrain, 
Lang may ye fing upo' the plain, 
The pride o' ilka nymph an' fwain, 

Whan ye rehearfe 
The fruit o' your poetic brain, 

In Hid deft verfe. 
K 



[ no ] 

May ye ay ha'e a lucky fhare 
O' ilka thing that's good an' rare, 
Enough to fair yourfel' and mair, 

That ye may gi'e 
What trifiin' things ye hae to fpare 

To like o' me. 

An' as 'tis aft the poet's lot, 
Scarce ever to he worth a grot, 
Though ye fude wear the ruffet coat, 

Or hodden gray, 
Let carkin' cares your mind ne'er blot, 

But rhyme away. 

Misfortune's but a thrawart b-tch, 
She's gi'en me mony a painfu' twitch, 
An' forc'd me aft to dike and ditch, 

Wi' weary banes ; 
Yet feldom can procure a flitch 

For a' my pains. 

What then, though chiels like me or ymi, 
Are forc'd^z^r^ aft right laigh to bow, 
Let us ay honeft means purfue, 

Wi' confcience clear, 
The roughed blafts that ever blew, 

We needna fear. 



r in ] 

To murmur at ane's fate is vain, 
An' can but fma 1 advantage gain ; 
What fignifies to whine an' grane, 

Wi* pouches bare ; 
It weel might aggravate our pain, 

But do nae main 

But now, my canty rhymin' chiel, 

As I maun bid you a fareweel, 

Lang may ye live, an' thrive, an* fpeel 

Parnaffian braes ; 
May ane an' a' gae to the de'il 

Wha are your faes* 

In fimmer, when the roads are clean, 
Whan lads an' laffes a' convene 
To beet the thrang, I wad be keen 

To fee the fair, 
At Jamie's or at BofwelVs green, 

An' fee you there, 

Things as unlikely ha'e been kent, 
As you an I meet i' fome tent, 
But, if we do, fegs, I'fe indent 

Nae thrang fal hinder, 
That we twa fal be mair acquaint 

Afore we finder, 



E 112 ] 

Meantime if ye hae aught that's rare, 
An' ha'e but ha'f an hour to fpare, 
Send it to me wi' cannie care, 

Wha am, moil fervent, 
(Or may I never whittle mair), 

Your hum'le fervant. 



[ "3 1 



DEAtH OF PAUL THE MAGNANIMOUS, 



J^ament, ye northern princes a' ; 

Deplore, auld Scandinavia, 

Your prop, your chief fupport's awa'j 

Wi' wicked Jpeed ; 
Through Europe hear the trumpet blaw, 

Great Paul is dead. 

Faith, Christian may look e'en right fowre, 
(Oblig'd by Neifon too to cowre), 
They thought to mak' the warld glowr, 

Wi' trembiin' dread ; 
But Paul's bright reign is fairly o'er, 

Great Paul is dead: 

This while he cou'dna be at eafe, 
*Caufe Britain wadna yield the fea c 



[ "4 1 

Wi* wicked paws the bear did feize, 

Her barks wi' greed ; 

Whilk fet a' -Europe in a bleeze, 

But now he's dead. 

But wha will now gae venture forth, 
To help thaejbillies i' the North ; 
Their league had better ne'er had birth, 

I'll wad my head ; 
For a' their fchemes are little worth, 

As Paul is dead. 

Gude fegs, the Danes an' Swedes may gape. 
They've loft the beft end o' their rape ; 
The deep intrigues whilk they did fhape, 

Will gang abread, 
An' lang their mads may wave wi' crape, 

Great Paul is dead. 

Troth, fome fo'k fay the chiel was daft, 
For night nor day cou'd he (it faft j 
Siberian bears on Britifh craft 

He meant to feed j 
Kind If— — ck ? too, he fet aJaft, 

But now he's dead. 



[ H5 ] 

Sae, as he's fairly at his reft, 
The warld nae raair to moleft, 
O, Saunders ! fure i^ wad be bdfc, 

Wi' canny fpeed, 
To line wi' olive leaves your neft, 

Mind Paul is dead. 



i u6 ] 



ON THE DEATH 



OF 



GENERAL SIR RALPH ABERCROMBIE. 



ASwhenfomefturdy oak, that long had flood 
The pride and glory of the woods around. 

Is undermin'd by fome fierce rufhing flood, 
And allitshonourslevell'd with the ground. 

So Abercrombie fell ! — his country's pride, 
Her flay — her truft, in midft of War's a- 
larms : 

He long — he nobly fought — he glorious died, 
The boaft and honour of the Britifh arms ! 

O, Scotia ! your lov'd hero is no more ! — 
Sad, fad indeed, is the dread tale of woe ; 

For him who fell on Egypt's rugged fhore, 
O, let the tears of love fpontaneous flow ! 



[ H7 1 

Full well indeed may ancient Scotia boaft, 
And glory in the iflem'ry of her fon, 

Who oft victorious led the Britifh hoft, 
And made his country's foes to yield, or 
run. 

Ah ! many a hero, generous, great, and brave, 
By Gallia's revolutionizing crew, 

Has been fhut up in an untimely grave ; 
Yet, like Sir Ralph ! comparatively few* 

What did proclaim him to be good and great, 

And fhone confpicuous on the vi&or's 

mind, 

Which made the hero and the man complete, 

Was courage, fkill, and fweet compaffion, 

join'd. 

The fields near Alexandria {hall declare 
True British valour, and proud Gallic 
fhame : 
In fpite of MexN t ou, and his florid glare, 
Sir Ralph appears the former glorious 
name ! 



[ «8 3 

In Egypt's fultry deferts may they rot, 
The hands that did fupport the murd'ring 
gun; 

^.nd blafted he the eye that aim'd the fhot, 
Depriving Scotland of her worthy fon ! 

Farewel, great man! — for thee fhall Britqns 
mourn ; 
And British Armies will their lofs de- 
plore ; — 
Yet, long's their bofoms dotkrfbr glory burn, 
The memory of Sir Ralph will they adore ! 



SUBSCRIBERS NAMES, 



A 

James Auchjbold, Chat ton 
Robert Allan, Catcune 
Maitland Allan, Lauder 
Matthew Aikman, Royal Artillen 
William Aiken 
David Aitken 

B 

The Hon. George Baillie, M. p. 
John Black, Wboler 
George Burn, Holy-Ifland 
John Baxter, Liiburn-Tower 
John Baird, Corfbie 
John Black, Weft Gordon ' 
John Brack, Trabrown 
Rodger Bolton, Lauder 
Alexander Brodie, Pilmuir 
Tames Brown 



[ 120 } 

t 

James Brockie 9 

George Brunton, Camiefton 

John Beattie, Pilmuir 

James Brown, Royal Artillery 

William Brown, Bankhoufe 

Walter Bryden, Dalkeith 

William Burton, Greenlaw 

George Bell, ditto w 

William Brown, grammar-fchool, Falkirk, 

6 copies 
Janet Brodie, Legerw r ood 
Robert Brown 

John Brown mafon, Glafgow, 2 copies 
Roger Black 
Robert Broadfoot, Edinburgh 

C 

Donald Cameron, Efq. New Blainfiie 
William Carr, Humbleton * 
Simon Cramond, Holy-Ifland 
Ofwald Carmichael, Wooler 
John Coxton, Fowbery 
John Coffar, Wooler 
Thomas Campbell, Lilburn 
Walter Coffar, Legerwood 
Alexander Coffar, Corfbie 
James Ccldwells, Lauder 



[ 121 j 

John Chiiholm, Birkhillfide 
Robert Currer 
John Cribbes, Heugh 
James Cribbes, Dods 
George Coffar, Greenlaw 

D 
William Dickfon, Edinburgh 
John Dickfon, Adenfton 
Thomas Dickfon, Baffendean 
John Davidfon, St. Leonards 
William Deans, Thirlefton 
Nathaniel Duncan, Wooler 
Robert Dun 
Adam Dalgleifh, Falfide 
Andrew Darling, Weft Gordon 
Edmund Dods 
Thomas Dods 
John Dods 
William Dickfon 
Robert Douglafs, Stow 
James Darling 
Adam Dick, Edinburgh 
William Douglafs, Snawden 
Mifs Dewar 
William Dryfdale 
Mrs. Duncan, Edinburgh 



[ 122 ] 

E 

David Ednionftone, Lauder 
Thomas Edgar, Carfrae-mili 
George Ewart 

F 

James Fiergrieve, Falfide 
James Frater, Greenlaw 
James Ford, Dods 
William Fala, Lauder 
Thomas Fairley 

G 

Henry Gib, teacher 
Jean Gibfon, Corfbie 
Andrew Gray, Norton 
James Graham, Weftriither 
Thomas Grieve, ditto 
William Guthrie, Huntly wood 
Adam Gray 

William Gordon, Lauder 
George Galafhan, Glencrofs 
Robert Gray, Cambridge 
Alexander Gifford, Edinburgh 

H 

Col. Charles Hamilton 

The Rev. Geo. Henderfon, Lauder 



C 123 ] 

William Hardie, ditto 

Ifabel Hunter, Falfide 

Margaret Hay, Weft Gordon 

John Henderfon, ditto 

Andrew Hoggart, Greenknow 

James Hutton, Huntlywood 

Ninian Hoggart, Mellerftain 

Alex. Henderfon, Falfide 

William Hogg, Earlflon 

James Hiflop, Lauder 

Alexander Hiflop, Rothbery 

John Harrower 

Robert Harrower 

John Hogg, Greenlaw 

Alexander Henderfon, Edinburgh 

James Hutchifon t 

William Hutchifon 

Margaret Haftie 

Robert Henderfon, Lauder 

George Haftie 

Eliza Henderfon 

William Hogg 

Mifs Hunter ■ 

K 

John Knox, Dunfe 
Robert Knox, Weftruther 



[ 124 ] 

James Kirkwood, Weft Gordon 
James Smith Kidfton, Stow 
George Knox, Haddington 
John Kirk, Edinburgh 

> L 

John Laidlaw, Peafehill 
John Linnen, Greenlaw 
John Lamb, ditto 
John Law, Pilmuir 
Richard Lees, Galafhiels 
Thomas Lockie, Weft Gordon 
George Lyal, Oxton 
John Little, Hyndiidehill 
Galafhiel's Library 
James Lindfay, Corfbie 
Andrew Little, Gattenfide 
Robert Leithen 
Margaret Lockie 
John Luke, Efperfton 
James Laing 
Alexander Lamb, Edinburgh 

M 
John Murray, Efq. Cor&ie 
Andrew Maule, Wooler 
James M'Donald, Humbleton 



[ 125 J 

John M'Dougal, Earlfton 

H M , B 

Matthew Muir 

John Murray 

Mary Monielaws 

James Moffat 

Andrew Mercer, miniature painter 

John M'Dougal, Huntlywood 

James M'Nie, Lauder 

James Moffat, Thirleftone 

William Mitchelfon, Salton, 2 copies 

John Michie, Thirleftone- mill 

George Middlemafs. Weftruther 

O M— — , T— — 

John Morray 

William Mafterton 

Alexander Mackie 

James M'Dougall, Edinburgh 

N 
James Nifbet, Spylaw 
! James Nifbet, Huntlywood 
William Nicol, Lauder 
James Nicol 
George Nifbet, Flafs 
Peter Nichol 
John Nichol. 2 copies 



E 126 ] 
o 

James Orr, Newcaftle 

P 

James Paris, fchoolmafter, Stow 

George Peacock, Woodhall 

Andrew Peacock, ditto 

George Purves, Weil Gordon-mill 

James Paterfon. 

John Pringle, Greenlaw 

George Pearfon 

Walter Peacock, Haddington 

R 

David Runciman, Wantonwalls 
John Rutherford, Eaftmains 
John Rogers, Chatton 
James Richardfon, Wooler 
Thomas Ramage. Lauder 
Robert Reid, Edinburgh 
William Richards, Royal Artillery 
Robert Reid 

S 
Henry Swan, Efq. Kelfo 
Thomas Service 
Thomas Shiell, Norton 



[ i2 7 J 

James Scott, Eaft Morifton 
Thomas Scott, Lauder 
Walter Scott, ditto 
John Stevenfon, Weft Gordon 
Alexander Scott, Lilburn- Tower 
Walter Scott, Wooler 

W S , M 

Alexander Stuart, B. Y. C. 

William Stark, Weftruther 

James Simfori, Edinburgh 

James Story, Weft Morifton 

James Stot, Edinburgh 

Hugh Stuart, Cambridge 

John Sanderfon, Birkhillfide 

Mrs. Scott, Broomhall 

William Smith 

James Scott, Lauder 

Robert Scott, Dalkeith 

Walter Skirving, ditto 

Alexander Shiell, B. Y; C. 

John Shiell, Dods 

William Shiell, Edinburgh, 3 copies 

William Storie 

Andrew Sommers, Gallafhiels 

T 

John Thomfon, Wooler-haugh-head 
George Turnbull, Wooler 



[ 128 ] 

Robert Tait, Thirleftone 
James Thorn, Boghall 
Jean Thomfon, Hyndfidehill 
Peggy Thorbum, Edinburgh 
James Tait, Birkhillfide 
Ralph Tait, Spottifwoode 
Robert Thomfon, Weftruther 
John Trotter, Park 
Robert Torrie, Corfbie 
A. Telfer, bookbinder, Kelfo 
Alex. F. Taylor, Edinburgh 

U 
John Ufher, Toftfield 
George Ufher, corn-dealer, Leith 

W 

William Watherfton, Eaft Morrifton 

J&mes Waldie, Fans 

Thomas Watfon, BafiTendean 

George Wilfon, Earlfton, 2 copies 

James Welch, Weft Gordon 

John Waldie, ditto 

Thomas Whale, Earlfton 

John Walker, Lauder 

John Watt, Kelfo 

William Waddell, Edinburgh 



[ 129 ] 

Robert Waddell, Woodhall 
Andrew Wilfon, Whiteburn 
John Wilfon, ditto 
William Wilfon, ditto 
Margaret Watfon, ditto 
Robert Whitlaw 
Alexander Wilfon, Catpair 
Thomas Wood, Dalkeith, 5 copies 
William Wilfon, Wooler 
Thomas Wilfon, Dunfe 
John Watterfton, Greenlaw 
Thomas Waddell, Lauder 
John Wilfon, Cheeklaw 
James Wardlaw 
Robert White 

Y 

Thomas Young, Oxton. 



THE END. 



Printed by Mundell & Son,? 
PvOyal Bank Clofc, Edinburgh. £ 



% 






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